Prelude to the end
by gfaerie
Summary: Time is running out for rogue farseer Imisha as she races across the galaxy chasing ghosts and shadows in a desperate hunt for a future that holds a glimmer of hope. But all hope in life for the Eldar race has long since been spent. Their only hope now lies beyond the veil, hand in hand with their own end. This is the story of the beginning of that end.
1. In the beginning there was nothing

There was...something...someth...

There was nothing.

Wait, something...something right at the edge, a sha...

Gone. There was nothing.

Blurry, elusive, ghostly. Like a silhouette in a snowstorm...

There was nothing.

Tiohja sighed and felt the last breath of hope leave his chest. The was indeed nothing there except for the constant humming of the infinite circuit. Its dead has long since stopped talking to him and now shunned his probing touch. As did the living Eldar on the craftworld, every day he could feel their silent demand that he'd leave them growing ever stronger. He would eventually have to embark on the path of the outcast, that much was certain. The thought of dying cold and alone on distant worlds didn't scare him, he was just as cold and alone in this flying jewelled coffin. In the end, all Eldar would die cold and alone, their light slowly fading until everything was black.

It was that blackness that had consumed his life, the drive inside him that separated him from his fellow Eldar. The black hunger that had driven Itilith away. They all understood it well enough, every Eldar had looked into the endless well of despair that was the fate of their race. There was no hope for them, and they all knew it. Their light was a candle flickering in the wind, waiting for that one last gale to snuff it out. To steel oneself in face of certain death is one thing, but to steel oneself before a life totally devoid of hope is something quite different. Tiohja's life had become nothing but a long death watch.

A life that could have held more joy than most Eldar ever hope to dream for. Tiohja felt his nails dig into his palms as the memories of his early life pounded on his heart like a sledgehammer. Memories of Itilith and the life they were supposed to have had. Itilith, the pale raven haired bonesinger that had been the light of his life since they were only a hundred years old. Quiet and shy even for an Eldar, no one has expected greatness from her. A greatness he had stripped from her with his dark hunger.

The pull was subtle as always. But any further down this line of thought and he might as well throw himself into the Great Enemies welcoming embrace. He could not afford an emotional outburst, that would be like a wounded lamb screaming in a forest full of wolves. The impressive craftworld gave no protection at all if one could not control one's mind. Instinctively the mantra that had been hammered into Tiohja since birth flared in his mind. Focus. Focus on the work. Follow the path. Constrict your thoughts. Suffocate your feelings, clear your mind, focus your soul into a single point. Instantly his mind shut down and his attention flicked back down on the quivering human on the floor whose slow mind would never notice that his thoughts had wandered.

Tiohja path was the path of the interrogator. The torturer. It was the closest you could become to the path of the outcast without actually leaving the craftworld. He loathed it. But then so did all interrogators. Only those who loathed the path were allowed to follow it, lest it leads to damnation. No Eldar in Alaitoc could ever again be allowed to take pleasure from torture. Or take pleasure from anything for that matter. For Tiohja it was the perfect path, he had to distance himself from everything to be able to perform his functions as an interrogator, to be totally devoid of any feeling. And in doing so he could protect his mind from She Who Thrist.

How he envied the dying human in the corner. It had been remarkably resilient, even as he had made a pile of its soft parts on the floor it had told him nothing. It had broken in the end, of course, everyone and everything breaks in the end. Unfortunately, it hadn't known anything the Eldar has any interest in so all was left now was to put it down. Still, Tiohja hesitated. Even now he would trade places with the mutilated human in an instant. Most Eldar contributed human bravery to stupidity and the fact that they were simple brutes not capable of fear as the Eldar knew it. Although Tiohja did not dispute those facts he knew there was something more to it. They had hope. They had faith. Even this one on the floor would die knowing there was at least a glimmer of hope for its children and its children's children. So much he even took it for granted. He had even flaunted it:

"You can not harm me, for the emperor protects us all! You will never win, witches of old! For every one of us you slay thousand more will rise!"

Right about then it had fainted from the pain but the faith it had in its race during those last moments shocked Tiohja. He would have settled on one moment of hope, that one moment of knowing everything wasn't in vain. For that, he would happily have turned his tools on himself. Especially the words "thousand more will rise" hit him personally. Very few new Eldar ever rose anymore. And had it not been for Tiohjas weakness there would be another Eldar child running around the craftworld. For Tiohja had not always followed the path of the interrogator, he and Itilith had once long ago followed the Isharylla together. The path of the soulforger. The path of the parent.

There are many reasons why almost no Eldar children are born and that most of those few who are born are still as death itself. The lifestyle on craftworlds is one of solitude. Passion is all but forbidden and intimacy is all but impossible. And for a good reason for love and lust can if left unchecked lead an Eldar straight into the bosom of She Who Thirsts. As such there are not many Eldar couples to begin with.

But the main reason is even worse, since sex alone is no longer enough for the Eldar. There simply aren't enough essence of Eldar souls left in the warp to merge and be reborn into the new bodies. All that which was once Eldar now belongs to She Who Thrists. And the souls in the infinite circuit are dead and can not be brought into new life. As such the only way for Eldar to have children is to forge a new soul. That soul has to be forged from the love, hopes and dreams of the parents. There is simply no other way anymore.

For this to even be possible the parent's minds have to be totally unchained and allowed to emerge themselves totally in each other. The souls of the parents have to run unchecked at the very brink of their capabilities for extended periods of time without falling. It is an extremely delicate process, to ignite a new life through a dance of minds. This most sacred of Eldar rituals often fails and often leads to damnation. That it is risked at all is perhaps the ultimate sign of exactly how desperate the Eldar have become.

Itilith is a soulforger like the craftworld had never seen. Soulforgers are very hard to discover, for they seldom excel in other areas. However, unlike most Eldar, they have hopes and dreams strong enough to be capable of weaving new life. The one sign common for all soulforgers is that they extreme difficulty expressing their emotions, some have even come to call it a mental disorder. The older they become the more they tend to focus their attention on a single fellow Eldar without even knowing it. Itiliths talent was stumbled upon by sheer luck. Tiohja had never reflected that upon the fact that the quiet girl that he had been with the last thirty years never spoke to anyone but him. It is not unusual for Eldar to be very quiet. He never understood that the words she mumbled in her sleep were children's names. Only when a fellow bonesinger by accident overheard her humming thousand-year-old nursery rhymes did everyone understand.

Itilith's soulforging was a wonder beyond words or song. When making love it was all he could do just to keep conscious. He remembered it like trying to keep your head above water in a storm. Endless oceans of sweetness poured over him, longing to pull him down under. Waves the size of worlds threw him around like he was nothing. And the winds. The fierce craving winds that wanted to strip him of everything.

And in that storm, a light was born. Tiohja remembered the very moment he first glimpsed the spark that was to be their child. The first and only time. Because of him. For while Itilith was like a storm he himself doubted and stumbled. For how could he summon hope when there was none? How could he summon the will to create a child he knew was damned from the moment of conception? He had tried of course, oh how he had tried. With his very soul, for all the good it did. This is how his black hunger began, as a desperate search for something he pin his hopes upon. But he could not find anything. In the end what little dreams and hope he could summon was not enough and their child died. Itilith furious despair knew no bounds as she helplessly watched the light fade. And the craftworld lost a soul instead of gaining one.

In the very last second, the protective walls around his mind slammed down around him, returning him to the path. He put the human out of its misery. No animal should have to suffer in vain, that was not part of his work. Now waited the gruesome work of tearing its body apart to find out if the space marines have introduced any new modifications to their soldiers since the last time. Looking for any weakness the Eldar could exploit to minimize their own losses against the juggernauts of humanity. He looked forward to it. The work itself was nothing he took joy from but the slow ritualistic dissection would make allow the rest of his mind some freedom of thought in relative safety.

The door opened and another Eldar entered the room. It was the last person Tiohja wanted to see. After Itiliths death, the entire craftworld shunned him, every single Eldar except the one that just stepped into the room. The only other Eldar also shunned by everyone.

Kalitha was wearing her mask as usual. She hadn't taken it off in over two hundred years. The mask which normally would be fluttering its eyelashes, licking its lips and mouthing promises of infinite pleasures now had an ugly sullen look. Its eyelids were closed in defiance. Tiohja knew better than to look for too long. He turned back to his work.

"She has brought someone to see you." The Solitaire called to him in a deep husky voice full of resentment. But like her role, she was quite alone.

"She will leave you two alone" Kalitha stated coldly and sat down on the operating table behind him with a small pirouette. The door closed behind her. It all made very little sense, harlequins seldom did outside of their theatres.

Most Eldar would be terrified beyond belief to have a harlequin playing The Great Enemy come for a visit. There were few things short of facing a daemon the Eldar feared more. But Tiohja had known Kalitha long before she walked the path of damnation, long before she even joined the harlequin troupe.

"So what brings you here mother? If you have come to seduce me and devour my soul could you not at least sound a little cheerful? The sweet promise of having one's soul consumed is somewhat less appealing when you look so angry." he sighed.

"Oh, I'm here strictly off the record. Your virtue is quite safe with me." Kalitha voice had changed into the innocent giggling voice of a small child. In the corner of his eye he could make out the contours of her mask, now depicting a small girl. Wearing a veil. The great enemy wore many faces.

"Ever the tease. Well, at least you cheered up. So if you are not here for my soul why are you here?" This kind of banter was his way to handle the fact that his mother had given her soul to be consumed by The Great Enemy for the sake of a play. A thrice damned play. He had lost his only living parent forever so that she could wear a mask and play the doom of all his kin until the day came when she died and her soul would be mutilated, ravished and utterly consumed. How could he not hate her for making such a choice? He turned his hatred into his work. The human corpse did not seem to mind.

"I heard you were looking for me".

"I most certainly am not." He tore out a large piece of the human innards and slabbed in on the table.

"Are too."

"Am n..." It was pointless. There was no use arguing with his mother. Drip drop the human's blood was making a pool on the floor.

"I guess I am. You should know. I have chosen to follow the path of the exile".

"So melodramatic 'the path of the exile'". In the corner of his eye, Tiohja could see the figure on the operating table mockingly waving her arms in the air.

"Yes, mother. Exile."

"And why is that?"

"You know why."

"Because of Yn...?"

"No! Don't say it! Don't...don't speak the name."

The mere mention of the name he and Itilith had picked for their child seared through him. When an Eldar child dies in stillbirth the name picked for them is banished and never spoken again. Both out of respect and out of necessity. Some memories can kill. The hastily constructed walls around his mind were falling. The path was fading. In the distance he could hear the wolves of the warp howling, catching his scent in the wind. Wounded prey.

"That is a promise I simply can not make. It's m..." His mother sounded almost outraged. The continuation of the subject was like a jagged piece glass thrusting ever deeper into him.

"Just stop. Please." The wolves were closer now.

"As you wish". Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his mother making a dismissive gesture with her hand, an annoyed face on her mask. "Shoo".

There was a sound like a startled yelp in his mind. He had been lucky, the warp spiders had apparently somehow found his pursuers.

Tiohja was now panting, trying to catch his breath. He leaned over trying to steady himself. The pile of flesh that had once been a human stared him straight his face. The path. Shivering he picked up his bonesaw and started cutting the human into pieces. The ritualistic work slowly guided him back to familiar territory.

"I can do no longer do any good here. I have become a poison to this place and a danger to everyone. I will soon no longer find my way back to the path. That is why I must leave."

"That answer just leads to another question."

"Why? Because I have nothing left that's why! No life, no hope, no nothing! Because I have come to realise that there is no hope for the Eldar." True or not she was right. It did sound melodramatic.

"You are wrong: There is no hope in life for the Eldar."

Tiohja sighed irritably. He was in no mood for word games.

"Don't try to trick or mislead me with word games mother. That is what I said, there is no hope"

"I was in no way misleading you. Nor I am I much for trickery, that's more my brother's field. I simply corrected you."

"You don't have a brother" Kalitha was an only child, most Eldar were. But then he remembered harlequins sometimes referred to the fellow actors as siblings. As her mother was playing Slaanesh her brother would be one of the other Eldar gods.

"Well if you want to get technical I guess I can't really have siblings. Not yet. But I will have two strong brothers and two beautiful sisters. Sadly I don't get to see them very often. I think some of them need to get used to the thought of having a little sister a bit longer. But my eldest brother seems to like me. He comes to sing me to sleep sometimes. I like him."

Tiohja had seen the plays and knew the story about the two brothers and two sisters, the four remaining gods in the Eldar pantheon. But the rest didn't really make sense. However, there was little point discussing theology with someone playing a god so he decided to go back to the issue at hand.

"You said there is no hope in life. That is the same thing I said."

Tiohja could swear he heard a small amused sigh. That didn't sound like Kalitha at all.

"No, it's not. You said there was no hope."

Tiohja suddenly felt oddly safe, like when he was under the protective gaze of his parents as a young child. But his mother was anything but safe these days. Perhaps it was because he was finished with the dissection. He had found alterations to the heart organ which might be useful for biological warfare. Slowly he lifted his eyes from the space marine cadaver and started washing up. Blood was dripping from his gloved hands.

"Please tell me then: What hope is there then if there is no hope in life?" he asked in an exhausted voice without even looking at Kalitha.

"What hope is there when even this has failed?" He held up his bloody hands for her to see.

"He did not fail" his mother chided him. "Had he failed none of you would be alive". That was weird. A Solitaire speaking praise of the war god? He sucked in air to taunt her with this but before any words came out his mother continued.

"In any case: Have you ever considered that might still be hope even when your life is spent?"

"Hope in death? You of all people should know who awaits us beyond the veil." This was leading nowhere. Tiohja had finished washing up and just wanted to sleep.

"The veil looks a little different when you are wearing it." There was no fear in his mother's voice, there never was. This angered Tiohja.

"Of course she who thirst doesn't scare you. You're on her side." This was a cruel lie and Tiohja knew it but his patience gone, alongside his hope.

"I like to think we are all on the same side. And have you ever considered she might be afraid of you as well?"

"Afraid of us? The lion doesn't fear the sheep." Sheep. That is all the Eldar had become. From masters of the galaxy to being hunted like cattle.

"Look at it from her perspective. Slaanesh did not ask to be born into this world as a monster. It was you who made her into what she is."

"'I' didn't make her anything!" Tiohja was shaken to hear the name of the great enemy mentioned out loud even by a Solitaire. In the corner of his eye he could see Kalitha sitting on the table dangling her legs, she looked oddly young. For some reason, he didn't turn around.

Tabitha ignored his comment and continued.

"And she has known nothing but pain from you. For centuries you summon her, shaping her into your image. And then at the very moment of her birth, you suddenly change your mind, refuse your responsibility, reject her, and blame her for everything. "The Great Enemy" you name her, what a name for a child! And she sees all of her brothers and sisters whom you ignored for so long and now all the suddenly adore. And what did you pray to them for if not her death! Even the ones dripping with your very blood you prefer to her. And she ... lashes out."

At this point, Tabitha made a small pause.

"I feel for her just as much as I do for you."

"You feel for her?" The words felt like ice down Tiohjas spine. Had his mother taken one step too many down the path of damnation?

"I do. I think she fears the final hour more than you do. Much like you, it is death she fears, just not her own. She fears for the death of the Eldar race before they come to love her. In the end, like all children that is all she wants. Her desperation and despair are heartbreaking. She is the sickly child at the window, looking out over the street where the other children play. She tries so hard to be a part of it, to show you that she is a part of you. She can never stop. Not until every single one of you are gone."

Gloved fists slammed into the table before him. His mesh gauntlets hardened the pressure. Tiohja had had enough.

"But that only proves my point. We can hide in our craftworlds and in our soulstones but it won't matter. Even if we wait until the galaxy falls asunder and all other life is spent it won't matter. We can't escape her. She will be waiting for us all in the end."

"She will indeed."

And then Kalithas voice changed into one Tiohja was sure he would never hear again. A soft voice no one but him had ever heard.

"But she is not the only one waiting." The very instance the sentence left Tabitha's mouth every daemon alarm in the sector started screaming.

Tiohja spun around, drawing his shuriken pistol. He looked wildly around the room. Kalitha wasn't there. Later he found out she had left the room, even the craftworld. The logs showed she had been in the room for only a few moments.

The warp spiders stripped the room clean. They found nothing.

There was no one there.

But there was something.


	2. The girl and the daemon

The last one went down with a whimper, She Who Cuts made sure of it. Killing Eldar was so much fun. They felt so much. It was like a fireworks of emotions. A shame they broke so easily. As her claw slowly worked its way up through the banshees innards she made very sure that the Exarch knew that this pain wasn't even the main course. Oh no. The departing Eldar soul was almost mad with panic as it retreated into the soulstone on the broken armor. Panic, pain and crushed hope. So many exquisite spices in this meal.

Around her there were size more broken bodies. Six more trapped souls. Tonight's special treat. Above her the last remaining Eldar cruiser was desperately retreating from the ravaged surface. She could see the hallucination fields overloading, revealing the true position to the ground batteries. It would not make it. The entire Eldar force had been utterly obliterated. A somewhat given conclusion this close to the Eye of Terror. She Who Cuts tasted the scene on her forked tongue. There must be thousands of dinners like hers waiting on the battlefield around her. The noise marines would talk about victory. Who cares about victory? This was a buffet.

* * *

The stars had came out when it was finally time to eat. She Who Cuts had managed to hide with her kill in a small cave in next to a crater. The crater was littered with heavy tanks the noise marines liked to use, torn to pieces by disruption blasts. One such burned out husk covered the entrance to the cave, shielding her from others who would steal her dinner. The Eldar had taken ten times their numbers down with them in the battle. They always did. It mattered not. Broken toys like humans, tanks and ships could always be replaced. _Toy_ s. _That make a splash in the bath?_

The daemon hissed seemingly for no reason and laid out the seven soulstones on the ground before her. Which one would she start with? Should she perhaps eat them in the same order she killed them? Yes that made sense. The youngest of the banshee squad was the first one to fall. The girl had not been ready for battle, the Eldar must indeed be desperate to bring novices like her to battle. But She Who Cuts did not complain. Quite the contrary. If not for the novice banshee she would not be having this glorious feast. _Feast_. _Delicious sundaes on a sunday!_

The girl had fought hard, that was not her weakness. Lots of fancy swordplay. And pretty tough to, She Who Cuts mused. Even as a daemonette had knocked off the Eldars helm with a vicious backhand the girl had fought on as if nothing had happened. She was hard, but no match for the daemonette. She Who Cuts replayed the moment where her claw had come from below between the girls legs, closed around her torso from below and all but cut her in two. It flowed back to her like the sweet first fruit of spring. _Spring_. _Wearing a new dress to school_.

Even split in half the girl stood strong. But as the girls guts had spilled out on the ground in a wet red downpour, she had pulled the banshee closer and kissed her. And what a kiss it was. Skill in battle is not the only power of a daemonette. She Who Cuts would wager that the girl had never been kissed before. _Kiss. Kisses and tickles for my sweetheart before bed!_

Deep within that kiss the girl had broken and She Who Cuts was allowed to slip in. The rest of the squad had gotten first row seats as the daemon ravaged the girl's mind for a few precious moments before death. Shivers ran up the daemonettes spine, even the memory held so much pleasure she almost climaxed. But no need to rush, she had all night. _Night. Stargazing with the neighbours._

She held up the stone against the pale starlight that filtered into the cave. What was left in there wasn't much, she had all but shredded the girl's soul in those moments before death. But it was a nice snack to start with, an appetizer before starting on the rest. Just as her tongue started to caress the stone a flash of light caught the daemonettes eye. Through the entrance of cave and into the ravaged soulstone three stars shone. _There you go baby, just like that._

The first was Alippienne, the willful child. Although not the brightest star in the sky the blue dot was known as the last star to fade when the sun rose. A long time ago, when love and laughter and hope still lived mothers across the planet would smile at their little Alippiennes who refused to go to sleep.

Away from the other two was Gartora, the absent father. Tonight was a clear night and you could just make it out. Gartora was not really a star. It was actually a galaxy on the other side of the universe. But the way it was positioned it seemed to belong with the other two stars. So near them but still so far away. Thus Gartora became the patron star of everyone who went to war, leaving their loved ones behind.

Last was Tirilla, the dying mother. The wonder star every astronomer in the galaxy knew about. Around the dying orange star there were no less than nineteen planets, every single one of harbouring life. From frozen methane ice algae to the famous lead ocean manta rays not one planet was barren. By every known theory Tirilla should have flared up into a red giant millions of years ago, wiping it all out. But millennia after millennia the star fought fate and simply refused to die.

A ghost of a question drifted through the daemons mind like a wisp of smoke. How did she know this? Before the ambush she had never set foot upon this planet before. Yet that formation could hardly be same from any other point in the galaxy. Daemons did not forget. But she could not remember.

She Who Cuts lowered the soulstone and looked at the star cluster again. Slowly old knowledge emerged from the mist of her mind. She used to like stars. She would watch them from...from...wait, why was she looking at stars? That part of her was dead. The part of her that liked stars had been dead for thousands of years. The knowledge was like an old scar tearing open into a wound that would not close. Terror rose through the daemon. Not the kind of terror that comes from any outside threat, daemons laughed at such things, killed them and ate them. This was true terror. The ten thousand year old remnant of yourself staring at you from the abyss, spitting and sobbing back that everything you are is wrong.

The daemon staggered backwards and threw the soulstone to the ground. This was a trap. The Eldar must have some new weapon they had deployed here. One they were all willing to die for.

From the darkness came an answer.

"Yes. One could say a trap for them as much as for you. They just went into it willingly."

There was some...thing in the back of the cave. Something small. Whe Who Cuts tasted the warp with her forked tongue. Definitely an eldar soul. A survivor? But the soul tasted strange, like smoke. A construct? No, not that either... The figure moved in the shadows and a small hand pointed towards the entrance of the cave.

"You always loved the stars. Remember?"

Someone who knew that she liked the stars. No one knew that. She didn't know that herself anymore. Claws flashed at the ready. No time for play, this intruder would die swiftly. But for the first time She Who Cuts was not fast enough.

* * *

When the daemon woke up again she found herself on the ground. A small scruffy looking Eldar girl was leaning over her, wiping her face with a wet cloth.

"It's so funny. The claws. The teeth. And still you look the same when you sleep." She studied the pincers with a curious expression.

"One can't help but to wonder if your mistress true intent was to disguise that she wants to remember you as you were." She put down the claw and looked the daemonette up and down.

"Even the breasts she kept the same! I mean come on! What's the use of being a naughty seduction daemon if you can't have huge cans?" She giggled furiously and made a rude gesture.

The girl was fearless. And defenceless. And mocking a daemon.

"But who can blame her. You are so beautiful. If only I could have convinced you of that. Remember what I told you when you joined that last cult? All that sex and slaughter won't..."

"...won't make me feel pretty". The distant story of a girl who had to grow up too fast in a world falling apart opened a wound inside the daemon.

The child looked around the cave and said in a small voice "We should never have moved here. Not that it would have made much difference in the end." The girl stroked her claw affectionately. It felt good. And the fact that it felt good hurt so much that the daemon wanted to die.

"What, what are you doing to me? Who are you?"

"I'm killing you. Or more accurately...no let's not sugarcoat it. I'm killing you. I'm death." She girl sighed and shrugged her shoulders. "Dear me. That sounds rather pompous, doesn't it?"

"So you are a weapon!" The daemon part of She Who Cuts screamed and roared inside her. But the roar that but a moment would have been a thunderstorm now sounded more like a sad hungry cat.

"My creators certainly think they crafted a weapon. They think I will defeat your mistress." The girl smirked and shook her head. She mumbled something that sounds curiously like "Idiots".

"You will never defeat her. Your power is nothing compared to the magnificent one". The words came out but as they left the daemon so did the conviction behind them.

"Of course not dear." Not the slightest trace of mockery could be found in the response. "And if my creators were half as clever as they think they are they would know that." In a weird twist of fate the child comforted the daemon.

"But you see, power has nothing to do with it." A short pause cut the air in two. "How to explain it?" The girl stood up and started looking around. After a while she came back with a battered codex.

Her fingers flicked through the pages.

"It's a story you see. Like the ones I used to read to you. Discoveries, legends, great victories, love, gods, it's all here." She came to a picture of Abaddon the Despoiler and held it up. "And yes, power determines what happens in the story. And yes again, your mistress has great power." The girl paused and looked She Who Cuts straight in the eyes.

Then she came to the last page and held it up for She Who Cuts to see.

"But you see, nothing anyone says or does on this page will change the fact that there won't be a next one." The daemon felt her jaw drop and the child responded with a smile that lit up the cave.

"You should see the look on your face. Ok. Let me try again. It's like when you were little and didn't want to get out of the bath? Remember?" The child put her finger playfully on the daemons nose. "What did I do then?"

"You opened the drain. I hated that. I tried to plug it again with my toys but it never worked." The words came out of the daemon before she could stop them. And every word tore the wound inside her wider until it burst like a dam and everything started pouring out. The daemonette looked at her claw as if seeing it for the first time. It felt...artificial. As if she was playing dressup.

The Eldar child, now on her feet, laughed a warm sound in the cold cave. "So you see I am no weapon, no mighty warrior. I am but the drain all of you are circling. The cover of the book that is the story of the Eldar. Such is the way. Old stories end so that new ones may begin."

"Your mistress was supposed to be that new story. That is how all this began" She made a casual gesture around, poked around a pile of wreckage coming up a piece of a broken eldar jetbike. She sniffed it suspiciously and threw it away with a disgusted look on her face.

"But the story wasn't over. So instead she became the star of it all. And now she want's to keep it that way. Or at least so she says." The girl tilted her head and her eyes flashed in the dark. "And like you in the bath, she splashes and pouts. And tries to stuff the hole with her toys. Ah there you are!"

It now became clear what the girl had been looking for. The soulstones. She picked up the small stone the daemon had dropped seemingly an eternity ago. The young banshee apprentice. The child held the stone up towards the stars so that the last light could touch it. Then standing on her tippy toes kissed the stone. As soon as her lips touched it the soulstone went dark. In the warp a small whimper sounded. The sound of a tormented animal put to rest.

"And my creators are even worse, they want to go back to beginning of the story."

Another one of the banshees soulstones went dark. And another.

"And they are willing to die for it." And another.

"All of them." And another.

"But stories don't work that way. They don't stay still. They don't go backwards. They end. The water always trickles out in the end." The last soulstone went dark. As the girl turned to face the daemon the cave got a little darker. Smoke from one of the burning tanks must have drifted into the cave. She Who Cuts could no longer see the stars. All she could see was a warm smile and veiled twinkling eyes.

"I...I know you" She Who Cuts stammered.

"Yes, you know me".

The smoke seemed to trickle towards the girl. She stroked it affectionately as is twisted around her. Small naked feet carried her back towards the daemon.

"I killed you. You are dead." The remnants of the daemon didn't seem to notice that it's pincers now smoked heavily. It simply stared at the girl and she knelt down right beside it and placed what was left of the daemons head in her lap.

"Yes you did. Yes I am." The smoke clouded the daemons sight and darkness descended.

"Oh god mummy! He said I had to! He said I needed to sacrifice that dearest to me. Mummy? Mummy I'm scared. Mummy I don't want to die! Oh please don't let me die!" And long last, finally the daemon was gone and that was left was tears.

"Don't worry light of my life. Pride of my heart. Joy of my song. I am here. I won't let go. Sleep now."


	3. A deal with the devil

That beautiful sound. First the little hummingbird of the startup engine. The first little tremble of the top barrel just as it starts to move. It is almost as if the gun is timid at first. It blushes at it loads the first cartridge in and smiles a shy smile with the first muzzle flash.

And then that roar. That holy roar. It is like a train passing at high speed, the iron wheel hitting the gaps between the bars at an ever faster speed. Bam bam bam bam bam. Bear in mind power armor is pretty tough. And plague marines are known for their endurance. But none of that matters when you are at the receiving end of an assault cannon. One second the traitor death guard was there and in the next he simply disintegrated. The grey knight moved his arm even so slightly to the left and another traitor turned into a rain of metal and flesh. And then he joined in the roar of his gun and unleashed it.

* * *

"No one is here, Captain. If there was an informant among them, he is gone now". The battle was over and two dozen plague marines lay shattered and broken in what was the command center of the space hulk. His squad had searched the command section of the hulk meticulously. But they had not been the only ones searching through the carcass of the enormous ship. And now the informant they were both looking for was gone.

The grey knight captain swore under his breath. This mission was a failure. He looked over his squads. Two casualties. Both wounded grey knights were still standing but fighting Nurgle worshippers meant all casualties were fatal ones. Both of his brother had been hit by plague shells through their terminator armor. In disgust he saw were the virulent acid had eaten through the armor and into the flesh beneath. One drop and you were done. Or worse. He saw the wounded men gives their final prayers, lower their helmets to receive the cleansing of the heavy flamer. Better to die a brother than to live as an enemy. Their sacrifice would be remembered.

"I am initializing the teleport brothers. Prepare the dead for transport."

Suddenly a chill ran through his bones and in the next second his internal adjutant confirmed what his soul already knew.

 _Warning. Unidentified warp shadow detected._

"BROTHERS! Incoming!" The grey knights moved instantly forming up in a circle around their dead comrades.

"Adjutant, analyse! What, and from where?" The assault cannon motor was starting to purr, ready to claw at an anything that threatened its master.

 _Non-localized presence. Superposed warp shadows. Unable to classify._

"Close ranks. Prepare for close combat!" Nemesis force weapons flashed at the ready casting a faint blue glow over the broken command center, reflecting off thousand year old terminals. All was quiet but for the drip drop of water trickling from the caved in roof.

"Captain, I am getting some strange readings." There was no fear in his brother's voice but quite a bit of frustration.

"Hold fast brothers! Adjutant, give me something." The captains made mental note to adjust his adjutant after the mission. This technobabble was unbearable.

 _Known daemons: no match. Warp shadow dimensional projection axis orthogonal to all known chaos powers._

"Adjutant! Enough! I need an answer!" Internal scanners revealed nothing. None of the dead plague marines moved. All was still.

 _Full archive query initialized. Establishing teleport link. Please stand by._

Time seemed to stretch forever. His gaze flashed across the wrecked command bridge. Nothing moved. A small bead of sweat rolled down the captain's forehead before the adjutant spoke again.

 _Partial match: Prisoner SE4890-EX-4578 captured 39015:450:31. Female Eldar, age 11. Cleansed during interrogation. Cleansing date 39015:452:72. Match 1.3%._

 _Partial match: Prisoner AG11-CR-19778A captured 39018:12:107. Female Eldar, age 4. Cleansed during arrest. Cleansing date 39018:12:107. Match 1.21%._

 _Partial match: Prisoner AG11-CR-28978C captured 39018:12:109. Male Eldar, age 7. Cleansed during negotiations. Cleansing date 39018:13:241. Match 1.19%._

 _Partial match: Priso..._

Out of smoke and shadow stepped a small girl. Over what seemed like roughspun sack cloth she wore a stark white veil so fine it looked like smoke, gracefully flowing all they way down to her toes. Pointed ears. Delicate features. Eldar.

"Tirial, who smiled at the wind and rode dragons. Imoen, who laughed at flowers and was just learning to walk. Allia, who played with dolls. Even if he was a boy. Scandalous."

The captain did not answer her. But his assault cannon did. Before he could stop himself it clawed out at the girl, sending a single bolt racing straight for the slender figure.

"That's just great. Who is going to pay for this?" The figure poked her finger through the gaping hole in her roughspun robe and then threw her hands in the air as if to show she was quite unharmed. Neither her nor her veil showed any sign of damage. For a split second the captain thought he had heard a hissing sound in the shadows. But before he could pinpoint if the girl spoke again.

"You sure know how to greet a girl. Bullet holes and lists of murdered children. There is no love lost between us indeed, servant of Anathema."

 _Target analysis: Xeno eldar est. 9 solar years. Body temperature 2° C. No heartbeat detected. Warp shadow analysis still inconclusive._

"Daemon. I knew it." The captain smiled a grim smile behind his visor. The brother next to him mirrored his thoughts. "You choose the wrong people to try to corrupt". The assault cannon motor started to purr again. His comrades lines up along him. The daemon might resist one bullet the captain thought with grim satisfaction. Let's see how she handles forty thousand.

"First you shoot me and now you call me a daemon. You don't have a lot of luck with the ladies do you?" The girl chuckled at her own joke and made a sour face when the knights didn't join in. "Oh very well then: Redemptionis in morte"

The codeword for the informant they were sent to find. You could almost hear the jaws dropping behind the knights visors. But they recovered instantly.

"I don't believe you." Still the captain moved his finger off the trigger.

"Oh come on. My kin always claim the race of man is dimwitted beyond belief so for the love of all that is holy don't let them be right. They are so insufferable on the rare occasions that happens. So wipe that slack jawed stare of your face and think. You think my demonic master plan is to waltz in on group of grey knights unarmed wearing this charming outfit and then try to corrupt you with witty banter? What kind of idiot daemons have you been hunting?" The captain frowned and closed his mouth. How the hell could she know? His visor was down.

"You really think I am here uninvited?" Silence. The girl rolled her eyes and threw her hands in the air. "Fine, just hear me out! If you don't like what I have to say you can always shoot me again." She smiled a secretive smile.

"Speak then. Before I lose my patience"

"You have a snake in your midst captain. One whose head I would like severed". For a split second the captain mentally went through all the knights with him on the mission. He breathed a sigh of relief, he would bet his life they were all loyal.

"You don't fool m..." He didn't get to finish. The girl sure liked to interrupt.

"Oh not them" The girl made a casual gesture across his squad. "No they are all nice little choir boys in their little white little costumes"

"Who then?" Reluctantly the captain allowed his weapon to spin down.

"Oh no, not until we come to terms" She wagged a finger at him.

"Why involve us at all? Why not do it yourself?"

"Because I am but a little girl?" She made a face like she was selling him a second hard freighter full of holes and custom ork modifications.

"Who just took a bullet to the chest without flinching."

"Ok you got me. Truth is that is part of the deal. He was very very specific on that point. No touching the humans. Especially the ones playing dress up." She shot him a quick smile "No offense."

The little girl looked up, waved her hands and with a sarcastic sneer look told the roof. "See? I am not touching your fancy toy soldiers!"

"And truth is he has a point. So that means you fine gentlemen get the privilege of doing my dirty work for me". The girl leaned down, her veil collecting in perfect folds on the floor. All around her was filth and decay yet she remained pristine. When she rose again a small piece of paper stood before the grey knights. Before they could ask who "he" was she spoke again, this time in a grave voice.

"On this piece of paper stands written a name. This man knows the location of something very dear to me. Or to be exact the great unclean one inside him does. He has seen it. You will extract that location for me. And the daemon must not be allowed to escape. That is the deal."

"What is it you are after?" The captain was half suspicious and half curious.

The girl shrugged her shoulders. "I don't want to tell you. Also mentioning it aloud might draw unwanted attention."

"Then how am I supposed to know what to question him about?"

"Oh you will know. It will be the last secret he gives up before he dies. Because if he gives up that secret he can never go home." The girl said it with a look of regret on her face. As if the pitied the daemon. "And a word to the wise: After you read that note, destroy it."

"What if you lie?" The captain reached down picked up the small note without taking his eyes of the girl.

"Give yourself some credit. If he is a daemon you will find out. And you will know I upheld my part of the bargain."

Written in a small eloquent hand was a single word. A name. The captain read it and held the note his massive fist, seemingly contemplating something. Finally he decided and shut off his comm with the rest of the squad.

"Adjuntant: Inquisition override Xeno Armageddon Avenger"

 _Acknowledged_

"Corruption scan on this name."

 _Corruption scan result: pure white_

He looked at the girl. She rubbed her silky veil slightly between her fingertips and winked at him. Pure white. Few people have a full white scan, and most of them have not yet learned to walk. Daemons often went to great lengths to hide their presence. And sometimes they went too far. The captain turned the comm back on and threw the note to the ground.

"Brother Azigus."

"Yes Captain?"

"Burn it". His brothers heavy flamer roared in triumph and the note literally went up in smoke. Then the familiar yank of the teleporter called the grey knights home.

* * *

The second the terminator squad was gone the little girl collapsed. A red flower blossomed from the hole in her robe. But before the hit the ground a figure was by her side. As he moved his body exploded into millions of tiny fragments of light, the only thing visible a mask on his face. Portraying an inhuman visage of rage.

A vicious alien undulating laugh echoed in the broken halls as the man's free hand reached for the place where the grey knight squad had just stood. The shadows started to move.

"N..." She gurgled a sick sound and vomited blood. "No!" Obviously using all her strength just to speak, dangling loosly in his embrace. "We need them! You will destroy everything I worked for! If you kill them sister will never be free! Brother please I beg you!" Reluctantly the shadows retreated and the man retracted his hand to support the girls head. Even still his outline was blurred, like air on a hot summer's day.

The girl breathed out a sigh of relief and touched the wound in her stomach, cold blood still pumping out of her. A soft laughter carefully rolled from the man. His mask was now a face of great sadness with a single painted tear on his cheek.

"I stayed in this place too long, I need to get back to the infinite circuit. Will you carry me?"

The man lifted the now unconscious girl into his arms with the greatest care. He kissed her on the forehead and through shadow and smoke they were gone.


	4. Coronation

In the deepest cell in the deepest dungeon sat a woman alone in the dark. No, not a woman. A goddess. An incarnation of joy, life and beauty. _The_ incarnation of life. Once she had been the breath that turned the spark of life into a wildfire across the galaxy. As life grew so did she, her heart expanding for every breath taken. And into into it she poured every smile, every blossoming flower, every dance and every song. That was her. And endless ocean made out of the triumphs of her billions of children.

But her heart did not only hold a place for her own and nor was she a frivolous creature. Any place where death and despair reared it's ugly head she would be found. Carrying neither sword nor shield, just an unending unshakable undying love for all things alive and breathing. And where the beacon of light walked, the fires of hope soon quickened and roared. Pain and disease fled before her. Corruption and lies lost their footing and unraveled. It might seem strange in these days but here was a time when the darkness simply could not stand before the light in all it's glory. But that was long ago.

In this the deepest of dungeons this goddess slumped in a pit of her own filth. What must have been a regal dress at some point was now stained and torn beyond belief. Her golden hair that would have once lit up the dark had fallen out. Only ragged tufts remained. Her fair skin could almost not be seen for the amount of grime that covered her. Over the millennia there was no pain she had not sampled, no torture device that had not touched her skin, no shame she had not been forced to endure. And it showed.

But for all that it was in her eyes the greatest horror could be seen. Caring naught for her own plight her gaze was fixed forward, tears in her eyes.

The corridor leading to her cell was littered with corpses. Many bore the scars of horrible maladies and mutilations and the pain of their passing could be clearly seen in their final twisted expressions. For what seemed like an eternity she watched them scrambling for her, knowing that if she could just touch them she could make all of their pain and plagues go away and restore them. But they always died just out of her reach. For that was the game that he played with her. Every day her heart broke over and over again as she watched the endless parade of suffering and despair in the faces of those she was denied to help.

She had tried talking to them, soothing their last moments with her words. Then her tormentor had started placing flesh eating worms in their ears. She had smiled, letting her divine radiance flow over them as they passed. In response he had poured acid in their eyes. She had torn her dress to waft cooling air towards them and he had peeled off their skin. Any kindness she showed he reflected a hundred times over in pain back upon the poor souls. But such was her nature that she could not stop trying to help those in need. And the merciless cycle continued.

So now she sat there on a pile of thousand year old excrements, hugging her knees and softly crying as the latest batch of dead stared at her with cold hollow eyes. A quiet lullaby echoed through the dungeon. A song about a hunter, his wife and their children in the sky. It was probably meant to be a happy song but the singer could not keep back the sobs and thus the song was tarnished into a parody of it's original glory. The walls themselves seemed to mock it as they reflected the tune in false echo of her pure voice.

Today had been a particularly horrible day. There had been a child in today's group. An little Eldar girl. The goddess had prime seats to watch the prolonged suffering. When the last cramps had subsided, when the maggots have had their fill and when the last scream had been drowned out by swarms of flies the twisted little body had come to rest broken before her. Just beyond the reach of her fingertips. Like always. The goddess screamed a feral scream. If she had had any hair left she would have torn it. Instead she beat her fists in impotent fury against her knees. Knowing full well she would not reach, she lunged for the child.

As her fingers reached close to the little girl's head the dead child's visage suddenly shimmered. The area around the head exploded into tiny fragments of light. Having been stuck in the cell for ten thousand years the goddess had never seen a hallucination field before, especially one so primal as this one. The eldar of old had no need to hide from anything or anyone. She yelped and retracted her hand.

The visage stabilized. The child was still there, lying on the ground. But she was now wearing a silky white veil. And her eyes were open. Smiling she placed a finger to her mouth to hush the goddess and whispered.

"Did I overdo it?"

Now it was true that the goddess had been isolated for a long long time. And tortured. And heavy with despair from all the death and suffering she had been forced to watch. But she knew her own kin in an instant. And it was like rain on the desert.

"You are her. You must be." It was as if she could not believe her eyes.

"I find it very hard to deny that." The child got to her feet grinning like the brat she was. Like every younger sister she felt supremely pleased of the fact that she had manage to fool her elder sibling. And like a child she could not immediately see what a cruel joke it had been. But that is what happens when you are raised by a god of trickery.

"You are beautiful." The goddess eyes were wide with amazement.

The child opened her mouth and closed it again. She gazed at her toes she shuffled her feet in embarrassment.

"Is that...Is that my bridal veil?"

"Oh...yes...I..." The child looked unsure, as if she might have done something wrong. But the goddess just burst out laughing, genuinely, for the first time for a very very long time. It was sweet release, if only temporary. In that instant evil all around the galaxy raised its hackles and hissed. And every good hearted being in need could feel that long lost spark of hope crackle deep within them. She quickly stopped herself but continued to giggle and beam. Quite literally. Instead of broken tufts a long golden waterfall now flowed over her shoulders. And the dirt on her face seemed to fall away as if it could not stand to touch her. It looked like the sun itself has risen deep with the dungeon.

"Oh don't worry silly! If you like it it's yours! But why? I thought we had thrown that old thing away."

"I wanted to look like you. I saw pictures. And brother found this for me." The small voice betrayed the truth. The child looked nothing like the goddess. Short mousy hair compared to flowing silky gold. Deep dark eyes compared to light blue. Stubborn wild features next to the relaxed natural lines of the greatest beauty ever seen. And of course a total lack of the goddess divine curves.

The goddess sat down on her knees and reached out both hands for the child, beckoning her into an embrace.

"Oh child. Come here." But the child recoiled from the outstretched hands and if they were made of fire. Confused the goddess retracted into a reassuring motherly posture.

"I am just so glad to see you, little one. But what in the name of the stars are you doing here?"

The child seemed to regain some of her confidence and wiggled her fingers mysteriously. Ever so slightly she raised her veil off the floor, just a fraction of an inch. Pure white smoke unfurled around her. If you looked closely you could see faces in the smoke. Some concerned. Some serene. Some determined. But none in anguish or pain. The smoke twisted and turned until it formed into rope like tentacles which wrapped themselves around the bars. And began to pull.

Nothing happened. The smoky tendrils grew thicker and the girl grunted in effort. Still nothing happened. The child looked very disappointed.

"He sealed these bars himself child. Specifically against our kin. I have have tried what strength I have left against them so many times. No Eldar hand can open these bars." The goddess looked both sad and comforting at the same time. She knew it was useless but the sheer effort the child put into the attempt touched her heart.

"You don't say"

The smoke shot back to the girl and flowed down through her body to emerge at her feet. Among the corpses. Muttering to herself the child grit her teeth and stared at the bars with a glare so fierce it could cut through steel. And then the dead started to move. First just a few twitches or broken fingers. Then a foot twitched awkwardly. One after one lifeless eyes opened and focused on their target. Soon a hundred putrid hands reached out and grabbed at the bars.

And through her legion of proxy hands once again the girl pulled with all her might. The dead clawed at the cage until their fingers disintegrated and then clasped rotting jaws around the bars. Arms snapped and teeth broke. Cold sweat was pouring from the child's forehead. Blood started to trickle from her nose. But through the blood and sweat a satisfied grin now adorned her face. The imprisoned goddess stared in disbelief, a mix of hope and horror on her beautiful face. The bars, ever so slowly, were yielding to the furious onslaught.

A startled slobbering sound could be heard from the dungeons stairs and something started slithering down from far up high.

"No! He will know!" If the goddess at any point in the meeting with her sister had forgotten where she was she remembered it now.

"Let him come" Smoke poured from the girl like angry stormclouds, her eyes beacons of black light in the white mist. "I will get you out of here if it is the last thing I ever do" The metal screamed back in defiance as more dead clawed over each other to reach the gates.

Quick as lightning the elder goddess reached out at the dead grappling at her cage. As she touched them they fell and lay still. Scarred skin smoothed over, jagged wounds closed and hollow eyes closed peacefully. The sudden release caused the child to lose balance and land on top of the mountain of dead bum first. The smoke retreated and the dead stopped moving. With a stern look on her face the goddess addressed her startled would be rescuer.

"Child, listen to me for time is short. That is pride talking. You can not afford that. Learn from our mistakes. My pride is what got me here." She swallowed. "I deserve my fate."

"I refused to believe that!" For all her power the child was still a child and a stubborn one at that. But the goddess was relentless.

"Do you even know why I am alive? Do you know what I was doing when Slaanesh was born? Do you know why I was spared? Imagine me fighting the good fight do you? Shoulder to shoulder with the others? Or some glorious escape? Do you know what I did while she feasted on my husband and our children?" The goddess lips trembled slightly. Her eyes were iron.

"I was in bed. And I was not alone." The child first looked questioning up at the goddess and then blushed.

"I...indulged. I gave in. Forgot my purpose. We all did. Asuryan, Vaul, hell even Khaine" She spat and grimaced in disgust. "We thought ourselves invincible. We thought..." The goddess swallowed. "We thought: what harm can it do?" Her face contorted in self loathing. "To wrapped up in our own supposed excellence. To busy trying to get off to hear the screams of my family." Over the confession her hair had started to fall out again and the grimy mold was creeping back onto her face.

"So don't tell me I don't deserve it."

First there was silence. When the response came back it came the smallest of voices.

"But I need you. I can't do this alone. I am trying so hard but it is never enough. The is so much I don't know." Looking down the child splashed her hands in the sludge around her in despair.

"I am but death. And I know they all need to die. I know that can't be changed. But I...I want them to know life again before it is all over. I want what is left of them to go out singing with their heads held up high, not weeping on their knees. But that future is slipping away." The girl slumped down in the filth and something seemed to leave her.

"Don't you see it is because of you that future is even possible. You are not only death. Out of all of us only you...only your heart is free from this legacy. You are the one who picked up the torch of hope. That I dropped. By all that I hold holy I wish I could help you carry it again. But I can't. You must leave me here. Or face eternity alongside me, unable to help them." Then the goddess face lit up, as if realizing something.

"Here. I want you to have this." Quickly she reached under her tattered robe and placed a shining circlet on the child's head. The child took it in her hand and her eyes widened.

"This is Asuryans phoenix crown! How did you...?" The child bit her tongue and studied the crown.

"You kept it hidden all these years?" The goddess smiled a mysterious smile, her eyes twinkling as she winked her eyebrows. The child's face lit up. But then her face fell again.

"I can't take this" She started to push it back but was halted by a strong firm touch.

"I don't know what you had to do to get this far child. I can only imagine how hard the road has been for you. And what is yet to come will be even harder. But in ten thousand years you are my first flicker of hope. Our first flicker of hope. If you lead, I will follow." The imprisoned goddess reached through the rusted bars. The child looked anxious but at last she allowed her sister to carefully place a slender hand on her cheek, only the thin veil separating them apart.

"My little queen." Neither of the gods could hold back the tears. "Now you have to go! Quickly! Before he comes back!" A small creek of foul bubbling brown slime now trickled down the stairs.

Wiping her nose the child got back to her feet and adjusted her veil. On top of it she placed the brilliant phoenix crown now shrunk to fit her perfectly.

"I will not forget you sister. And I will find you again." Such a heavy burden placed on such a slender frame. But it held strong.

"I know you will". The goddess smiled in earnest and bowed in farewell to her sovereign.

And thus it came to pass that in the filthiest of places the last hope and queen of the Eldar was crowned.


	5. Eldar spank inferno

High farseer Imisha ran as fast as her legs would carry her, witch blade at the ready. Her face told the tale of a woman pushed one step too far. Lush green grass rushed away under her feet as she raced across the maiden world. Her heart both soared and hurt at the same time as she took in the scenery. High blue sky and snowy peaks surrounded the valley she raced through. She lets breathed in the cold fresh air, letting it intoxicate her. Having breathed stale recycled air for so long it was like heaven to her.

And now the damned vermin would take it away from her. Their factories would cloud the skies, their machines cut the trees, their clumsy feet trample the grass. Imisha snarled at the thought.

The news that the exodites had laid down arms against the Imperial occupation force had come as a shock. How dare they surrender that which the had belonged to the Eldar since the dawn of time. Savage cowards with no concept of honor, all of them! Except for...no she did not have time for such thoughts. Yet mixed with the fury was a bitter aftertaste of shame. Deep down she knew she was as much to blame as anyone. It was her craftworlds lack of support that had forced them into this disgrace. Yet another failure to add to her ever growing list.

For decades she had been forced to retreat, reposition and reevaluate her strategies in this sector. Pushed around and bullied by the imperium and their superior numbers. Scrambling to conserve her scarce precious resources. Forced to concession after concession. If this continued the Eldar would soon become the beggars of the galaxy, picking scraps from the tables of others, scurrying between dark corners for refuge.

No! That would not happen as long as Imisha still drew breath. This maiden world would be where she drew the line. She would call in everything and everyone. Mass the entire fleet, call in all the rangers, raise all the wraithguards. As soon as she got back she would choose a young king and unleash the war god. Hell she had even petitioned the damned Harlequins if they for once could do something useful.

To her surprise they had actually agreed to help. On the condition that she first presented terms to the humans. On site in person. Oh she would present terms alright. Imisha smiled. That was what the drawn witch blade was for. Her bloodlust drove her forwards, almost flying up the hill in a burst of speed.

The exodite village where the surrender would be signed loomed into view over the crest. Imisha sprinted towards it. A chained dragon roared in surprise as she swept past it. All around her exodites called out to her, waving their arms. She ignored them, she didn't need them. She didn't even have to look where she was going. She could smell the foul stench of humans coming from a large dragonhide tent in the middle of the village. In an instant she was there.

A split second later she had he witchblade at the throat of the Inquisitor that stood bent over the rough wooden table inside.

"You will leave. NOW! And take all of your filth with you. Or by Khaine I will have the Hemlocks strafe every planet in the sector. I will reap your kin like ripe wheat."

Still holding her witchblade at his throat she pulled closer to whisper in his ear. Almost so close that her lips touched his ear.

"I don't even care if there are any military targets. I will dedicate my life to exterminating your vermin kin. You want all out war pest? Well you shall have it!"

Imisha started to build up a dark pain spike in the warp. Like a rusty nail of hate it formed in her mind, feeding of her fury. Enough to make a even an Inquisitor scream. She wanted humiliate the human. No, she needed it. See how he liked it on his knees. The spike built in the warp as she allowed her heart to fill with loathing for his kind. The warp raged and roared and she drew in waves of energy into her torture spell. Was it too much, would it kill him? She found it didn't matter to her. As long as he hurt.

But a split second before she pulled her psychic trigger the warp suddenly calmed. One second it roared and frothed and in the next moment it became mirror smooth. It was as if someone had pulled the rug out from under Imisha and it was all she could do to keep her witchblade straight.

"Is this how you craftworld eldar say hello?" a snarky voice noted from the shadows.

"I am sure the farseer has a very good reason for storming into my tent and threatening my guest" a deep voice responded.

In her rage Imisha had not even noticed that there were two other people in the tent. The first was an exodite chieftain. Unlike the slender fragile figures stalking the craftworlds this man was built like a bear. And dressed to match. All except his bare chest that was crisscrossed when scars and tattoos, heaving with his slow deep breaths. His brow was high, his eyes deep, his gaze intense, his hair wild. Poised at the end of the table atop a huge throne made out of dragon bones, he sat looking straight at her. A vary look on his face. Imisha cursed silently as she started to feel the heat rise within her. Out of everyone why did it have to be him?

"Hail Imisha, it's been a while."

The second was a small veiled eldar girl wearing a silver crown on her brow. She was standing next to the Inquisitor, one finger on the witch blade as if that would stop it from spilling his life onto the dirt floor. She stared at the farseer with a smug defiant look and pushed the blade back. Still stunned from her failed spell Imisha lowered and sheathed her blade.

"I see you already know our dear chieftain" The girl continued. "And the gentleman you wanted to murder in Inquisitor Amaron of the Imperium of man." The inquisitor gave the smallest of nods, rubbing his neck where the witchblade has rested.

"And you are...?" The farseer left the question hanging and was surprised when no one answered.

"My niece?" The chieftain offered at last.

"Yes that is right! His dutiful niece. Haha that makes me a princess! Well yes of course it does!"

The 'princess' folded her arms and put on her most royal face.

"I'm a princess. You will address me as your royal highness"

"I will not. And why are you wearing a veil? A little young to be a bride aren't you?"

"Ah the veil. Ehhh...it's...a...hmmm..."

"Cultural thing?" Once again the chief came to the rescue. He didn't sound very convinced of his own suggestion though.

"Of course! My honor must be preserved you see! Uncle caught me having impure thoughts about a dungdragon." Over from the dragonbone chair came the sound of someone choking on his drink.

"And he said: 'Very bad girl'" The princess wagged her finger to illustrate the situation. "And I ended up wearing this. To keep my urges contained you see. Big BIG urges. I got hormones coming out the..."

"Yes thank you very much princess! I am sure Imisha understands perfectly well without need for further explanation" The chieftain wiped his beard to get the spilled drink out. He glanced over at the farseer and a spark flew between their eyes. They both quickly looked away.

"I thought Eldar didn't reach puberty until their mid-thirties" the inquisitor interjected and got rewarded with a pained look from the chief.

"Ah, but you see all the raw animal nature of this place have sped up my development. You know all the half naked chieftains as such. Why just last night I snuck in here after the celebrations to find the chief playing with..." The princess started showing exactly what she had witnessed but stopped as the chieftain bolted up from his chair with a roar, face red as blood.

"You see?" Then princess pointed up towards her steaming uncle. "Thus the veil!" Considering the matter settled she turned towards Imisha. "Now my dear farseer you had some...concerns you wanted to share?"

The sheer absurdity of the princess tale had left the the farseer speechless. As the tale about dungdragons and teenage urges had unfurled she had found it increasingly hard to keep hold of her anger and hate. But she quickly found it again.

"Some concerns? You have laid down arms and surrendered to these...beasts!"

The inquisitor snorted. "Surrendered? I wish..." The veiled girl shot him a glare before correcting the farseer.

"Laid down arms: Yes. Surrendered: No. Take a seat and let me explain."

Reluctantly the farseer sat down at the table. The princess served all the three adults goblets of strong drink as was customary according to exodite traditions. Imisha first looked suspicious at the clear liquid but when the chieftains downed his drink and raised his goblet in salute to her she followed suite. It burned but had a strange sweet aftertaste. The princess looked extremely pleased with herself. Then she picked up a rock lying on the table.

"This is a piece of Siraniel, or Astronomicum in the human tongue, an ore that is quite abundant on this world. Used by our dear guests in starships as a part of their warp navigation systems if I am not mistaken." The inquisitor acknowledged her with a nod. "And while plentiful here, it is quite rare elsewhere."

"Long story short this entire conflict boils down to mining rights for this mineral. Since the imperium opened their first mine here some eight years ago the exodites and the mining companies have been at each other's throats." Both the chief and inquisitor seemed to be ready to start arguing their case and list the many grievances committed against them but they were both silenced by a raised hand.

"There have been many treaties signed and broken, back stabbing, sneak attacks and the like. And at every step the situation has escalated. Our imperial friend here have now fortified their mines to such a degree that it is more of a military base than a mining operation. Both sides now seem to think that the only solution would be to remove the other completely." The princess looked gravely across the table. "As in genocide."

"But now comes the fun part. For you see while the Imperium can hold the mines, they are having some issues delivering the ore in any significant quantities. How much ore did your mines produce last year Amaron?"

"That is classified."

"Killjoy." She stuck out her tongue at him. "I will tell you. Less than a ton. Given the cost of mining AND all the resources needed to fight us you probably set a new record for most expensive substance in the universe! I am sure your budget meetings are quite the treat!" The inquisitor looked sour.

"The whole purpose of Astronomicum is that it warp conductive. However that does come with some...side-effects." The princess turned towards the farseer. "Imisha was it? Splendid! As a farseer I am sure you could enlighten us." All eyes turned towards Imisha.

She answered them all with a flat stare.

The princess looked back and forth between the farseer and the inquisitor with a resigned expression "You two are just awful." She then threw the piece of rock into the air. It vanished in a small flash of light to reappear on the other side of tent where it fell to the ground.

"As you see the net effect is that since the mineral continuously shifts in and out of this plane the veins are somewhat difficult to locate. In short: the ore moves. Thus our humans visitors need to continuously claim new ground, encroaching even more on exodite territory."

"And they need someone who is warp sensitive to locate the minerals in the first place. Now for them such people are in rather short supply. Using them as miners in the first place would be very costly. Using them as miners in a warzone..." She whistled.

Exactly how the princess had figured all this out the Inquisitor would never know. He still remembered the first meeting where she had laid it all out for him. She had known every detail of their operation, sometimes better than they knew it themselves.

"The Eldar on the other hand are all warp sensitive and if you forgive me for saying so have a somewhat more refined talent for it. Even a child could sense the veins moving from miles away. Someone like you farseer could probably cover half a continent."

The farseer smiled a smug superior smile towards the Inquisitor. At last the girl showed some racial pride.

"That is why we will be mining it for them from now on."

"What?!" Imisha spurted out. "You can't seriously consider sharing such a precious resource with the enemy!"

"Lie" The princess yawned.

"Excuse me?"

"Lie as in 'you are lying'. The mineral is worthless to us. Eldar craft haven't used Astronomicum for anything of value in what, fourteen thousand years? Wraithbone is superior in every way."

The farseer had no clue how the princess knew this. Or why she would share such an important secret openly among enemies. Eager not to betray her own reaction she changed tactics.

"I obviously meant important to them" she shot a look of pure spite at the Inquisitor.

"Well yes. That is the whole point. That is how I got them to sign this." The princess tossed a rolled up scroll over the table into the farseers lap. She unfurled it. As the princess had indicated it bore both the imperial seal and the dragon icon of the exodite colony.

The farseer started eyeing over the contact and once again almost screamed in indignation.

"For free? You are giving away the ore for free?"

The princess raised her eyebrows and made a nonchalant gesture. "Yes? Why not? The exodites have everything they want right here. We only limit the amount the are required to supply."

"This is treason." She looked up at the chieftain. How could he agree to this?

"Please Imisha. Keep reading" he urged her. For the first time since she entered the tent she allowed herself to look him fully in the eye. She was a woman grown for Khaines sake! But some fires do not cool over time, they simply burn hotter.

Swallowing the whirlwind of emotions that rose within her Imisha tore away her gaze and continued browsing the document. And then she stopped dumbstruck. How the hell had the girl managed this? She flew up from her chair and turned to the power armoured inquisitor.

"You there! Ape! Is this correct?"

"My name is Amaron, not ape. And to what are you referring?" the inquisitor responded pointedly.

"You know very well. It says here you are giving up claim on not only this world but other three maiden worlds along the rim."

"Should have been four" The princess muttered under her breath.

"Could have been two. But to answer your question that is correct. The imperium will remove all current and future human settlements from these planets as long as the shipments keep coming. The princess is quite the negotiator."

The farseer didn't know how to respond. For centuries the Eldar had fought to keep the imperium off these worlds. With steadily decreasing success she bitterly admitted to herself. And now in one fell stroke they were gone. The princess spoke again.

"I am sure you see the beauty of the arrangement. The humans can't mine the Astronomicum at reasonable cost. Especially not while fighting us at the same time. We want to live in peace but the mineral itself is of no use to us. And we can supply them with a hundred times the amount they could mine themselves. None of the parties will break this treaty any time soon."

It should be noted that it isn't really standard imperial praxis to do make deals with xenos in this way. But the princess had found the inquisitors sore spot with pin point accuracy. The ore had to be delivered one way or the other, the constant delays was turning into a minor political crisis. And she was right, mining it for themselves would cost a not so small fortune. Besides three distant worlds on the rim without other strategic resources seemed like a small price to pay for the inquisitor. Who was in many ways a pragmatic man that knew how to use his tongue as well as his sword. His craftworld counterpart however did not relent.

"And exactly how do you think you will transport these stolen goods? The exodites have no ships of their own. And I will never dirty our ships in deals with these feces flinging tree climbers." A look of utter distaste on her face, chin held up high as if she had played a trump card.

"We will use the webway of course"

"Sacrilege! How dare you suggest we use it to shuttle goods like serfs! The webway is sacred!" The farseer was appalled.

"Meh, not so much. Actually it had very morally dubious beginnings. Yurk!" The princess sniffed the uncle's drink bottle through her veil, made as sour face and spat in disgust. Looking up again she found she now had everyone's attention.

"Oh very well. You see there was this kind of sport a long time ago. Sunsurfing. Basically you race between stars at breakneck speeds and then shim just along the chronosphere into a warp jump to the next star and repeat the same thing. Totally insane I know."

"In any case there was this sunsurfer. And he wanted to impress a certain maiden. And by 'impress' I mean...you know." She made a rude gesture with her hands and whistled. Her uncle glared at her.

"Well in any case he though winning one of the largest surf surfing races might be enough to get to..erm...impress her. But the problem was that it was a quite large sport at that time with many practitioners. And this particular surfer wasn't that good at it. But he was rather clever."

"So he cheated. He constructed gates just outside the stars in the race. Gates only he had the key to. Using these gates his warp jumps were always perfect, even if he made mistakes during his coronal wave breaking. Eventually the technology spread to other more practical uses and what you call the webway was born."

"Where did you learn such things?" the farseer blurted out, betraying her shock.

"School?" A very convincing lie to be sure.

"What happened in the race?" The inquisitor was inquisitive.

"Oh he won. And impressed his girl." She winked her eyebrows and turned to the farseer who was now white as a sheet. "So you see farseer your sacred network is really just the one giant trick for a clever engineer to get lucky."

"I don't believe it!" The farseer stammered. But she had read of sunsurfing from ancient records. And the timeframe did match.

"I know! Who goes to that much trouble just to get in a girls underpants? I have watched the girls around here and let me tell you they will..." The princess watched the farseer and chieftain intently, baiting a reaction.

"That is quite enough" The chief angrily cut the princess short.

"Yes of course with the purity and all. Forgive me uncle! Bad thoughts, bad!" The princess curtsied but banged her flat hand against her head as if trying to shake something out. She then draped herself elegantly in a chair next to her uncle and poured a cup of dragon milk for herself.

"Well I will not grant access to the webway for this travesty. And I will not sign this treaty. I will not pay for something that is rightfully ours." The farseer threw the treaty back on the table. She just could not stomach it. But why then did her insides feel so childish and petty? She looked over at the chieftain. He looked sad. And disappointed. It cut her up inside but she just could not back down at this point.

The princess on the other hand had barely sat down again when she exploded in a fit of rage, throwing her cup at the floor and racing out of her seat. Milk splashed all over the table.

"I have just about had enough of you, you snooty stuck up bitch!" She pointed towards the inquisitor. "At least this one has the decency to just be greedy. He doesn't care how he the get the ore, just that he gets it. But for you it's a matter of 'honor'. Or ego more like it! Well for us this is about the future." The princess thumped her finger hard in her own chest.

"I will not let you would deny these people that just because you can't swallow your pride! So you will do it or by Isha I will take you over my knees and spank you right here and now in front of everyone. And shove your pride right up your arse for you while I am at it." For a split second the farseer let show exactly how much that prospect horrified her.

"Inquisitor have you ever seen the naked bottom of a high farseer?"

"That would be a new experience your highness"

"Well you are in for a treat then" She pulled up the sleeves of her robe while still keeping her veil on and grabbed a sturdy wooden board from the table. She gave the table a loud whack and wearing an evil grin started climbing over the table towards the farseer.

Quick as the wind her uncle rushed to the Imishas side blocking his niece in an attempt to avert the incoming spanking.

"I am sure we can work this out if you both just..." he started.

"Traitor to your own race is what you are! You even speak like a human!" The farseer sneered over the chiefs shoulder at the princess as she let her bitterness flow freely.

"Oh you think that is the ultimate insult do you?" The princess threw the wooden board straight at the farseer but her uncle incepted it. With his forehead. The board broke in two but he didn't so much as flinch. After that the princess settled for spitting insults through every opening she could find.

"Do you know the irony? For thousands of years have you known the other races. And what have you learned from them? I tell you what. You have learned _nothing_. Oh yes you learned how to kill them, how to beat them. But which of their strengths did you try to make your own? Which of their philosophies and teachings did you study? None. So confident that you were superior. So afraid that your path might not be the right one."

The two women stared at each other, raw fury in their eyes. As chance of a response from the farseers side was lost as wave after wave of relentless screaming hit her head on.

"But what have you discovered over the last ten thousand years? How have you grown? These exodites you look upon as savages are moving forward. But you lot? Ork society have advanced more than yours! All you do is scavenge of your ancient history. You are stagnation incarnated. I look at you and see a senile touthless hasbeen who keep repeating her kindergarten accomplishments. Meanwhile the rest of the universe moved on, leaving you behind."

At this the princess stopped, panting. Just as the farseer opened her mouth to retort the princess pushed the air out of her with one last insult.

"So you can gladly call me human, oh great and wise farseer. At least I am not a bitter old dried up craftworld hag!"

White faced, teeth gnashing the farseer stood shaking on the spot for a second. The she raced out of the tent just before the first tear fell from her eyes. The chief tried to stop her but she slapped his outstreched hand aside in anger. He threw a resigned gaze in the direction of his niece.

"That was...not constructive"

"She started it!" The princess pouted.

The chief took a deep breath.

"I will see if I can't calm her down" He paused, deep in thought. "And it would probably be a good idea for both of you to be gone when we got back" With those words he left the tent.

* * *

The princess and the inquisitor were left alone in the tent watching the exodite chief as he hurried after the fuming farseer. Night was starting to fall, the sun kissing the horizon with a few last scarlet rays.

"I think you might have made a powerful enemy princess."

"She needs that spanking. Just not from me." The princess exploded in a fit of giggles, her good mood suddenly back. After calming down she turned away and started cleaning up the table, separating important treaties from leftovers.

"What if she doesn't give you access to the webway?" The inquisitor still wasn't convinced.

"Oh she will. But it doesn't really matter. We already have access. It is just so she can feel some measure of control. She has as much to gain from this as anyone. Her forces are stretched thin, not having to engage you across in these sectors will free up precious resources for her. And save a lot of lives. Deep down she knows that."

The inquisitor was a little taken aback by this. Gossip was one thing, tactical info and troop movements another.

"Why are you telling me all this?"

The princess snorted.

"Please. Like you don't already know." The inquisitor suspected that in reality the princess was a very skilled liar. One that liked mixing truths, half truths and all out lies. What scared him was that he could not tell the difference.

"Fine. So I are telling me I don't have to worry about her? She seemed to hate all humankind."

"Oh she hates you all right. She is still a racist, pure and simple. But she would never harm her own. So as long as you keep these people happy you don't have to worry about her. Here take this." The princess handed the human a tray of dishes that he dutifully placed in the opening of the tent. He stopped there for a while, looking out over the village. He then turned back and started walking back towards the princess, who was now bent over the table wiping it clean with a wet cloth.

"Good. Because I would have no qualms about slaughtering her and all of these people if this deal turns sour." Hard words in a hard voice from a hard man.

The princess stopped in her movements, her head bent over the table. She did not respond but straightened her back.

"Just so we understand each other."

"I understand you quite well Inquisitor. But I am not sure you understand me." Her answer came in a tight, suppressed voice. She still had her back against the Inquisitor.

"Imisha, for all her flaws, is still family. She is my kin. So is every person around here. I will chastise them as I see fit when needed. But I love them. All of them." She made a small pause, dropped the washcloth and traced a hole in her roughspun robe with her finger. "Sometimes so much I can't feel anything else."

You don't become an imperial Inquisitor if you have any fear left in your body. But at this point that didn't matter. The imperial delegate took a few shuffling step backwards away from the princess, tripped and fell down. She had started to slowly turn around. And the room started to dim.

"Every person but you that is. You are...a business partner. A diplomat if you wish. I aim to be open and polite towards you. My plan is not to cheat you, rather see to it that you genuinely prosper from every arrangement. And I will try my best to protect you from the foolishness and prejudices of my own kin."

Her voice was still, betraying no emotion. It was the stillness of a polished steel mirror. For the inquisitor it was as if the world had stopped and the only thing that existed was the her form slowly turning towards him. Faeries of white mist had started dancing all around him as he grasped for breath.

"I prefer to keep peace with humanity. If I have an enemy at all, it most certainly isn't you. Both your military and your protector are immensely powerful. I will at any turn encourage my kin to try to come to terms with your rather than fight. Actually my wish is to try to keep you out of what must happen altogether."

The side of her veiled face was starting to become visible. The inquisitor whined and raised his hand as if to shield his face from her gaze. He made a few feeble attempt to scramble backwards towards the opening but his legs would not carry him. A warm liquid was running down his legs inside the power armor.

"But understand this: When the time comes, if left with no other option, I will pull all of this galaxy down with me through the veil. That includes you, your kin, all of your enemies and friends. Everything that takes a breath or thinks a thought. Man, daemon, god or mouse it will make no difference. I will wipe the slate clean. And I will do it with a smile on my face it I think it will help those I call my own."

The princess had now turned fully to face the Inquisitor who was now laying flat on his back on the floor, genetically modified eyes pinched shut. Smoke had started to fill up the tent and nothing could be seen but two angry black suns that raged in the mists. She bent down beside the prone human so that their faces lined up. As his head twisted from side to side trying to avoid the alien gaze directed at him her voice shrunk to a whisper. And with every word veils of smoke shot out from her mouth like caged snakes, pushing against the veil. Seeking a way through towards their prey.

"So if you think you can threaten me with your little ships and soldiers you are sorely mistaken."

The princess retracted from the human and the world righted itself again. The smoke retreated and the black suns set behind the princess eyelids. The poor Inquisitor rolled over to his side and retched unto the ground. He lay there for a while panting and then stumbled to his feet with a small sob.

"Now by the deal you just signed humans are no longer allowed on this planet without our explicit consent. And you just revoked your consent. So get out. And never come back."


	6. Eldar spank inferno epilogue

A few months after the exodite meeting high farseer Imisha laid crawled up on her bed back at the craftworld. She wanted to die. The roof was spinning and the stomach cramps rolled over her like waves. The ornate room smelled of sweat and vomit. Oh god here it comes again. Her stomach heaved and she lent over the side of the bed to retch up what little food was left in her.

One her way back up she caught her own reflection in the mirror. She was a mess. Pale and clammy. Why had she allowed her hair to grow when during her inconveniently extended stay at the maiden world? Now it fell straggly and foul across her face. First thing tomorrow she would cut it off. And get rid of that ridiculous braid. It is for savages, not craftworlders. She rubbed her eyes and squinted. Where was the purple scar that normally covered her right cheek? She traced her hand to her face. The scar was still there, but felt...thinner somehow. And then the nausea crashed over here again.

She was quite alone, with noone to hear her pathetic retching. With noone to help or comfort her. She had sealed her door with every means known to her. No one must know she was sick. Her position rested upon her strength. Among the ruling elite none dared oppose the mighty Imisha. If her political rivals knew the state she was in they would surely try to exploit it. If she could just figure out what was wrong with her. Damn useless doctors. Exhausted she closed her eyes. Just for a second.

* * *

Imisha sat up with a start. There was someone in the room with her. And it was her least favorite person in the entire galaxy. Casually draped in her writing chair sat the young exodite princess. All of Imisha runes and papers were in a total mess. Apparently the concept of privacy was foreign for the princess. Tact wasn't her strongest side either. She didn't give the Imisha so much as a second to collect herself before she laid into her, like their last argument had never ended.

"I am going to be honest with you: I think you are a terrible farseer. You have totally misunderstood what are role in meant to be. For you it is almost a military rank. You think it's about who swings the strongest stroke and summons the fiercest storms. That battle prowess gives you the right to rule."

Imishas sight had been clouded for a long time. These days the vague omens and subtle touches annoyed her and she seldom found the peace her colleagues talked about to sort out all the threads of fate. For her it just all became a mess. To compensate for this and keep her position of power she had allied with more martial factions within the craftworld. And honed her own skills to a razorsharp edge. And as a result over the last few decades the craftworld doctrine had taken a much more aggressive approach.

"But a farseer is not meant to be a warrior. We have others for that. She is supposed to be a guide, someone meant to shepherd our fragile canoe through the terrors of the night."

At this point Imisha realized the bed had fresh sheets and someone had cleaned up the vomit from the floor. She looked around, dazed and confused. There was no one in the room but her and the princess, who annoyed at her lack of attention raised her voice.

"Not straight into them! Your blind pride and hatred for the humans almost dragged us into an unwinnable war that would have seen the end of us all. That is why I have taken steps to remove you from your place of power so that cooler heads may prevail."

The princess took up an empty bottle from her robe and placed in on the desk. She looked purposely at Imisha.

"What is that? "Imisha managed to stammer. The cramps were returning.

"That is what I poured in the welcome drink back in the chief's tent."

"You...you poisoned me?"

"Actually you have yourself to blame for your current predicament. All I did was to remove an obstacle in the way." The princess picked up the bottle again. "This little thing is something extremely old and very very rare. My sister managed to smuggle it to me at great danger to herself. I have been saving it for a situation just like this one."

"But the others...they also drank" Imisha eyes widened in fury and she started to rise despite the pain. "If you hurt him I will rip the..."

"Calm down! He is just fine. And so is the human by the way." The farseer sagged down back onto the bed. "Why would I go through all the trouble of putting that deal together if I wanted to poison them? It was you I was after. Yet I knew you would never drink something by yourself. So I needed something that would only affect you. This was the perfect solution."

"Because I am a seer?"

"Oh no much simpler than that. Because you are a woman."

"A woman?"

"Yes. And there have always been one very simple way to put women out of action."

The coin didn't drop for the farseer, but in her defence she wasn't exactly at her best.

"Will it kill me?" Imisha tried to keep her voice steady but in the middle of it she doubled over and writhed in cramps.

"Kill you? Who do you take me for?" A look of genuine shock spread across the princess veiled face. "The exact opposite actually. This is what that I am talking about. I never met a seer who was so blind to all things around her. You met me twice and don't have a clue who I am. You didn't foresee me drugging you. Or sneaking in here. You even missed your own children's destiny. You girl, have to be the worst farseer I ever met." the princess laughed.

"I don't have any children" the farseer spat between clenched teeth.

"Oh for Ishas sake do I have to spell it out for you woman?"

"But...but I am barren." There wasn't really a big shame, two thirds of all eldar women were barren. And the hard life Imisha had been living had not really allowed for children anyway. Yet as hard and sophisticated Imisha was something very soft and primal inside her made her place a hand on her stomach.

The princess picked up the empty bottle and wiggled it about, smiling obnoxiously. Imisha could not help but to reach out in the warp. And there, fiercely shielded by her own bright light were no less than three small sparks. How could she have not seen them before?

"You do realise that I never needed you for the deal right? I just used it to draw you there." the princess sounded cool and composed. What she didn't tell the farseer was that everything had almost been ruined by this presumptuous juggling of multiple fates combined with the princess own temper. But you are allowed to cheat as much as you want, as long as you never get caught. The truth was that rather than some brilliant master plan, the dice had simply rolled her way.

"Your have started to lose your way, all the stress and terror is getting the better of you. That is probably why you have been loosing your powers of divination. And you have allowed hate to poison your soul. I needed you there to see what you were fighting for. To reconnect with what matters. To relax for a bit. To get laid."

"You sabotaged my ship!" A realization suddenly dawned.

"I did!" the princess face lit up in a display of pure pride and delight. "It makes me so happy when my work is appreciated! Not that it was needed. Didn't take you two very long..."

"Was he in on it?" Imisha loathed being made a fool of.

"Oh god no, that man would die a thousand times over rather than see you so much as frown. He thinks seeing you again was destiny. That the two of you are meant to be." The princess tiptoed next to the bed holding the pregnant farseer, bringing an empty paper basket with her. "And you know hun, he is right. I know two halves of a whole when I see them. And the children have a right to know their father."

"But..."

"Is this where you rant about your duty to your people? That you are needed where you are and so on? Well as explained to you before you really are not. You have much to learn about leadership. To be frank your bullying have been holding back the others seers for quite a while."

"That leaves your martial skills. But as hard as you have grown we both know you would never risk your unborn children on the battlefield. Nor will you be allowed to when your condition becomes known. Besides with all the capital ships I freed up with the deal with the humans the next chaos incursion into this sector is in for a very nasty surprise indeed."

For the first time the two women who had been at each other's throats since they first met shared a smile. Then the farseer turned green in face and hung her head over the bedside, hurling into the paper basket. The princess awkwardly got to her feet and started walking back towards the door.

"The storm will come again. And we will need you. But for now there is a rare lull in the wind. Go to your love. Raise your children together. Live while there is still time." The princess stepped out the door and closed it behind her.

Once outside the farseers chambers the she did not immediately walk away but rested her back against the outside of the door, eyes closed. In a small sad voice, she said to herself.

"And come back again when you have something worth dying for."


	7. Family reunion

The snowstorm had subsided a little bit now. It was as if the storm itself was tied to Tiohja's life. The fury was ebbing, the energy of the storm slowly drifting away with the snowflakes. Breathing hard the eldar ranger tried to discern if the cries of his pursuers were getting closer or further away. It was still damn near impossible in this weather. A small comfort was that it would also make it very hard for them to find him. Not that it mattered. One glance at the gaping hole in his stomach he desperately tried to cover with his hand told the truth. They got him.

Still in flight mode and desperate to get out of the elements, Tiohja dragged himself into a small crevice on the mountain side. It didn't offer much shelter but was still better than to be out full in the still raging storm. The winds had started to wilt but snow was still pouring down, even the bloody trail he left behind was disappearing before his eyes. No one would ever find his body. Shaking he lifted his bloody hand and down at his wound. The bolter shell that had hit him had not exploded correctly, if it had it would have cut him in two. Still it had left a hole over an a inch wide. His lifespan was now counted in minutes.

Only one thing left to do. Send the report. Every eldar ranger was equipped with a single use warp tunnel transmitter. It opened a miniscule warp hole towards the nearest webway gate, enough to send a spike of data through before collapsing. Tiohja fumbled with his thick gloves and connected the device to his recorder. Send. It hummed for a short while before flashing a green light. That was it. He was done. Exhausted he collapsed onto the snow.

Everything was turning white before Tiohja's eyes. The snow was everywhere. Yet he was warm. The small alcove where he hid was like giant comfortable bed in which he could lie down. Pulling the cover of snow over him he snuggled down into it's embrace and closed his eyes. His stomach didn't even hurt anymore. Tiohja could no longer see the mountain. Or the hear the storm. The cold could no longer touch him. All that was left was the snow. It seemed to stretch on forever in all directions, as if the world was nothing but snow.

As snowflakes gently kissed his face and he drifted further and further away. The wind moved it's silky hands along his body, easing away the hurt and pain of his life. Tiohja welcomed oblivion with open arms. Not that he longed for death, he just didn't have very much to live for. Almost ten years had passed since the love of his life had passed on following the stillbirth of their child, leaving him alone. After that the light had just kind of gone out of him. He did not blame her. But he did miss her. At least he would die serving his people.

Some say you see your life flashing before you when you die. Tiohja didn't. He just saw Itilith, the shy bonesinger that for a time made his life worth living walking out of the eternal snowy field. Her step was careful as always, as if she worried that the ground itself would be offended by her touch. She wore a simple dress as white as the snow itself. And a smile. Her long raven hair was loose and free. Dying wasn't that bad he thought. Reality swam and wavered before his eyes like little fishes.

The snow's previous so subtle kisses were turning fierce. No longer nature's friendly pecks. Now it showered him with the kind of kiss you pour your heart and desires into. An aching, hungry longing beast of a kiss. The way you kiss when the lights are out and the darkness starts to radiate a heat of it's own. Only one person Tiohja knew kissed like that. In his dream he rolled her over and felt her body respond as he lowered the weight of his body onto hers. She gasped in delight and her nimble fingers started tearing at his clothes like starved wolves. Words were whispered into his ear that made him forget that he had ever been cold. Through the haze her eyes bored into him, full of challenge and fire. Tiohja let that fire wash over him and drain the last of his consciousness.

* * *

When we woke again I seemed to him that he was quite certain that he had died with his boots on. Not to mention his pants. That he would dream of Itilith in his dying moments was perhaps not that surprising. That she would still be there when he woke up somewhat more so. Lying on her side next to him her eyes still bored into him, albeit with the fire temporarily slaked. She was still wearing her smile but not much else.

"Good morning sleepyhead". She placed a finger on the tip of Tiohja's nose.

"How...what...where?" was the most romantic response he was able to muster. But her finger simply slid down to his lips, sealing them.

"Shhh love. This is not a moment for the head. This a moment for the heart" she sighed happily and snuggled into his embrace. Lying next to her with nothing between them confirmed to Tiohja that this must still be a dream. Skin to skin, her hair splayed across his chest, her smell in his mind. It could not be real. They laid there in silence for what seemed like an eternity, just holding each other.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to stay with you. I'm sorry I left you with nothing but pain." Itilith finally said in a quiet voice. Tiohja could feel tears on his chest.

"It was not your fault. I was...me. I wasn't strong enough. That is why she died. I killed her" he let the words out hoping that the hurt would go with them. It didn't. The death of their child was a wound too deep to just close. Still as they both cried together over what had been lost a hope emerged that it would at least scar over. When the tears would not come any more Itilith got up and sat down on her knees. She looked at him with sad eyes.

"That is what I am most sorry and ashamed for. That you lived your entire life thinking that."

"Come! There is someone I want you to meet" She slid her dress over her head. Tiohja put on his pants again. For the first time he noticed the space around him. Everything was white as far as the eyes could see. No sky, no horizon. Barely a ground. Just...white.

"Where are we?" he gaped in awe.

"In a little piece of the world that has fallen between the chairs" she smiled and led him away by the hand. After a while she stopped him and put her head on his shoulder and hugged his arm.

Sitting on the white ground wearing a simple roughspun dress was a little girl about ten years old. She was reading a cheap looking book, her nose almost in the pages. Beside her, sprawled on the floor laid a well worn handmade doll. Tiohja just stared. The girl flicked the page of the book she was reading, licking her finger before she turned the page. Just like he did.

"Isn't she beautiful?" Tiohja looked at the little girl. She had his wild mousy hair. His brown eyes. Itilith's heart shaped face. Itilith's mouth and nose. And slightly uneven slightly crooked ears, from where she had gotten those he had no idea. His head told him that the girl would never be a beauty in the classic sense. But his heart swelled in agreement with his wife.

"I thought...I thought she was a dream" he stammered.

"She is" his wife confirmed with warmth in her voice.

It was all too much for Tiohja. Dying, seeing Itilith again. And now this. He let go of his wife's hand, head spinning.

"But...but it can't be! This isn't real! We are dead!" he almost pleaded. "And she... she was never even born!" But Itilith just grabbed his hands again, steadying him.

"Yes. You got shot. I slit my own throat. She was stillborn. Out there we are broken beyond repair." Itilith pointed out towards nowhere and then shook her head. "Not in here. This place is...in between. A lost place where the dead can live again once last time. Saved for this very moment." Her voice was serene. She looked him straight in the face the way she did when something was important to her. "For one night only she has put down her burden to be with us. For one night only what could have been comes to life. Don't you want to spend that one night as a family before we move on?"

"I do. More than anything" Once again Tiohja's heart overruled any objections his head might have had.

"That is what I thought." she smiled and hugged him tight. Then she called out: "Ynnie sweetie please come here". It was the first time he had heard Itilith speak to anyone but him. The girl made a small sound in annoyment, not lifting her eyes of the pages.

"But mummy I am just getting to the good part!" the girl stomped her foot at the cruel unfairness of her mother's outrageous demand.

"Ynnead" her mother simply responded with the slightest hint of a warning in her voice.

That name. Neither of them really knew what it meant. They had heard it in an old song at a festival. Tiohja later wished he had asked the performer about it. Nor had they immediately known that was 'the' name for them. It had just kind of stuck around and in the end it was the only one left. Stubborn. Refusing to be dismissed. Last one standing. A very fitting name. Just hearing it spoken with anything but grief lifted a stone from Tiohja heart.

The girl folded her book and got to her feet, rolling her eyes. She left the doll on the floor and stomped over to her parents.

"What?" She glared at them both with big brown angry eyes.

Itilith elbowed Tiohja lightly in the ribs. A quick glance passed between mother and daughter. Tiohja cleared his throat. What do you say to your dead daughter who turned into a god?

"What...are you reading?" he tried.

"The lusty orcish maiden and her virile stablemaster" Ynnead casually read of the cover.

"Oh, how nice...wait what? The what and her what?" Tiohja grabbed the book. The cover held the picture of what has undoubtedly meant to be a handsome orc. His bare chest and flowing long hair was admired by a scantily dressed young lady, also an orc. He took a deep breath and unwillingly frowned. For a moment he actually forgot everything around them and was just a parent chastising his child.

"Where did you..."When he looked up he saw Ynnead was red in the face, holding her breath. Upon seeing his expression she exploded in laughter. Even the otherwise calm Itilith burst out laughing.

"Very funny" He thrust the book back towards his daughter. She gladly accepted it, winking back at him.

"I'm sorry, she insisted" Itilith giggled and shrugged her shoulders. As sour a face as Tiohja made part of of him was relieved. Deep down he hated formal welcomes and farewells where no one knew what to say. Nothing breaks the ice quite like a half naked orc. And Tiohja found that being the butt of a joke isn't so bad when your two best girls are laughing.

"They say the sequel 'The horny eldar mother and her willing ranger lovetoy' is even better. I heard two people advertising for it just a while ago." Ynnead exclaimed happily.

"YNNEAD!" Itilith's face turned first white then red. This time it was Tiohja's turn to chuckle. Their daughter looked very pleased with herself. Standing on her tippie toes and kissed him on his cheek, her arms around his neck. Instinctively he hugged his daughter back. She was so small. He got rewarded with another kiss and a whisper. "I told you I would be waiting for you. Welcome home."

And so the afternoon went on. They read stories. Played games. Itilith sang, Tiohja talked about his travels. And about their history together. Their daughter sat in mesmerized attention as Tiohja described his and Itilith first date. She snuggled up into their lap as they read stories about ancient eldar heroes. And managed to beat them in hide and seek every time. How she managed to hide in the completely white space Tiohja would never know. When they played games he was also quite sure Ynnead cheated. Sometimes subtly and sometimes blatantly. But not a single win was fair.

But he appreciated it. For within the cheating, the questions and the cuddles he got a glimpse of who he daughter really was. That she had a mischievous streak was hard to miss but there was a quiet almost sad undercurrent to her personality that she allowed them to see. Despite everything some part of her really was a child who just longed to be with her family. A thoughtful, worried girl who sometimes got overwhelmed and didn't have a place to hide. Someone who had grown used to crying alone when the world turned against her. At one point she buried her face into Itilith dress and didn't seem to want to come out. So they just held her and stroked her hair.

Of course sometimes it felt forced and artificial. Bonds long lost do not reconnect instantly. But at times it was genuine and natural. And every such moment was priceless. It was but a shadow of what could have been, but it was enough. The whole family understood that this was all they were going to get. And they made the most of it.

As the day began to wind to a close Ynnead decked out a small meal for them. She guided them enthusiastically towards small pillows laid out on the ground. The food was unknown to them both, smelling of unknown spices and herbs. The daughter explained that it was a ancient traditional ceremonial meal. They both got the feeling she was intentionally vague regarding the details of the ceremony.

"No, Mummy you sit here. Daddy you sit there." They sat down. Itilith squeezed his hand and smiled. Ynnead gestured to them to tried the tea she had poured for them. It tasted strangly flowery but not unpleasant. After anxiously appraising their initial reaction Ynnead looked pensive for a moment. Then she picked up a basket of steaming bread that gave off a spicy warm aroma. She breathed in the vapours and nodded to herself.

"Let's start with this! I baked it myself!" She started handing out the scolding hot pieces of bread.

Then all the sudden she stopped. Dropped the basket. The previously excited face had turned ash white. Her expression was that of a mirror shattered, eyes fixed at a point behind her parents.

Tiohja frowned and glanced over his shoulder. What could cause her such worry? At the distance an hourglass shaped figure was striding into the white space. The perspective distorted as the figure casually paraded into view, swaying her hips with every step. With just a few steps the figure was growing from a black little spec into towering over them all. A heavy step crushed the face of the doll Ynnead had left behind.

"No...no...look away. LOOK AWAY!" Ynnead screamed.

Itilith threw Tiohja to the ground and placed her hand over his eyes. The world went dark.

 _The mice are having a little party. And she is not invited?_ An offended sultry voice screeched in the minds of god and dead alike. At the same time a sweet nauseating smell rolled over them, threatening to overpower their senses.

"Run! RUN! And whatever you do don't turn around!" Ynnead said in a quick tight voice. With eyes clenched shut Tiohja grabbed Itilith hand and scrambled away.

 _Leaving already? But the party has just started!_

"Leave them alone! There is nothing here for you." Ynnead placed herself between her parents and the newcomer.

 _A whole family of mice? How adorable! Should she eat them?_ A vicious laughter rang through the ether like a thousand church bells right behind your eyes. Tiohja stumbled and fell. He could feel the blood on his knees as he got up again, Itilith urging him on in a panic. Behind them Ynnead held the line. Her response came quick and sharp, like it passed directly from heart to tongue without passing the brain.

"Big words for a slow learner. As I remember it last time you choked on me."

The newcomer hissed and stomped in anger.

"Oh you remember that do you? I thought you might." There was a whooshing sound and from nowhere the wind seemed picked up. For a moment Tiohja thought he could smell smoke in the air. Then Ynnead seemed to change her mind and tone, from a cocky provocative into the voice of someone who is trying to calm a wild animal. She took a deep breath and tried again.

"I'm sorry. But we already been through this once. Fighting is meaningless. We are the same. We are family. Sisters. Remember?"

 _NO! NOT SISTERS!_ The cry was full of rage and jealousy. The sheer amount of emotion almost made Tiohja pass out. They had all but stopped running, their energy sapped by the overwhelming new presence. Instead the former lovers huddled together on the ground. Eyes shut tightly.

"Fine then! Be like that. Deny it like you deny everything else. Like your smell. You stink like a skunk in heat, do you know that? Ever thought of taking a bath?" Ynnead gagged theatrically, the quick spiteful tone back in her voice. It was clear that she was trying to be calm, collected and mature. And she was failing horribly. The newcomer was circling around Ynnead who moved along, keeping her back towards her parents.

 _She will eat the mouse's family first. Alive. And the mouse will watch._

For a moment of terror Tiohja could hear the sound of heavy hoofsteps coming closer. Then in an instant, just behind them, there was sound as if a door slammed shut between parents and child. The sudden sound caused Tiohja to open his eyes. And where there but a moment ago had been nothing there was now a wooden door. Not a wall mind you, just a door standing by itself it the middle of the white space. It seemed simple enough with a small brass handle but somehow blocked out both the newcomer and Ynnead with it's frame.

The handle turned slowly but the door would not open. Someone turned the handle forcefully and pushed but the door would not budge. A large shadow moved under the doorframe. Then there was a deafening crash and the entire frame shock. But still it would not open. More crashes and blows rained upon the wooden frame. But it would not relent. The shadow move, trying to get around the door. But the door simply moved along, always separating Tiohja and Itilith from the others. After a while a roar of frustration rang out.

"Neet little trick right? It will only open for me and mine. And as you just renounced all kinship with me..." Ynnead responded smugly.

 _Keeping the family out keeps the mouse in. With her._

"Is that supposed to scare me?" the death goddess snorted. "Kill me and you know I will drag you down with me, kicking and screaming. And as long as I am here you will never have them." She put great emphasis on the word never. "So are you ready to die for them? Because I am."

Tiohja wanted to scream to her to run and abandon them but before he could draw a breath the cruel voice hammered against his mind again, knocking the wind out of him. He sagged against the door. Itilith was next to him, stroking his hair.

 _The mouse is clever. Clever clever CLEVER! What will she do, what will she do?_

"There is nothing you can do. But leave." Pride and overconfidence had crept into the child's voice.

 _If the mouse is not for eating...then perhaps for play?_

First there was short silence. Then a burst of lightning fast movement as shadows moved under the door. Then the silence was sliced in half by a high pitched scream. The scream of a child. Tiohja reached for the door but Itilith embrace tightened, holding him in place. Once the scream subsided a panting voice sneered back.

"Have you gone totally insane you self deluded half wit? You will kill us both!"

 _She would never kill the mouse. Just have some fun with it!_

"Then you are wasting time. I will not fight you." The child grunted in pain. "Nor will not let you have them! So do your worst!" Ynnead spat in defiance. Probably in the face of her attacker.

Another sharp scream exploded into the infinite space. After a while it drowned out in a rasping gurgle. Something was dripping onto the floor. Tiohja tried to move but Itilith held him down in a vice that he didn't think was possible. There was a small gentle knock on the door.

 _She wonders: What kind of father does the mouse have?_

"NO! Don't listen to..." Ynnead shout was cut short. There was a horrible sound, like someone wringing out a wet towel. Something wet splashed onto the ground.

 _THE MOUSE WILL BE SILENT!_ There was a deep thud as a body hit the ground. Hard. Then that voice rang out again, just beyond the door.

 _Now! She thinks: What kind of father cowers on the ground as his daughter suffers?_

Tiohja had never known his father. Someone his mother had met on one of her travels. While the man had never had a chance to be in his life he still blamed him in his absence. And when Itilith was revealed as a soulforger he had swore to himself he would do better.

 _She is sure: A father who does this must not care about his daughter very much!_

A series of deep thumps rang out. They never seemed to stop. But for each one they gained a wetter and wetter timbre. This time there was no scream. Tiohja froze with terror. Why was there no scream? Itilith tried to whisper something to him but he could not grasp it. It was as if the only thing he could hear was the suffering of his stillborn child. A small stream of cold red blood trickled from under the door.

 _She wonders: Perhaps the father is ashamed of the mouse? Dirty and small. Not elegant. Not pretty. Not special. Not._ Thump. _So._ Thump. _Clever._ Thump. _Anymore._ Splash. _Does he wish her to dispose of it? Throw it in the trash?_

"No! No please! Please..." Tiohja sobbed. He started to rise but Itilith threw herself onto him to keep him down. She spoke word that his mind would not listen to. Words that told him to let the horrors continue.

 _He speaks! She only wants to talk. Face to face. And then the mouse does not have to suffer. She will stop if he asks her to her face_. _But soon! If he wants there to be anything left of the mouse..._ Something was shuffling on the ground, away from them.

 _Oh no no no! The mouse must stay here! She wonders how the mouse will crawl if she break it's little legs. Oh how she wonders? She must know!_ The sheer enjoyment in the voice caused Tiohja to vomit onto the ground. Even as her legs snapped Ynnead didn't scream, she just let go of tiny a suppressed grunt. Itilith held onto him so hard it hurt. He tried to shut his eyes but the darkness behind his shut eyelids was oppressive, bearing down on him. Calling him a coward.

 _The mouse does not want to talk anymore? But it is still looking at her with those eyes. She thinks: the eyes must go. Yes! It is for the best!_

"NOOO!" Tiohja wrestled free of Itilith's grasp at last and rose. Fists clenched, roaring in anger. He might be powerless in the face of whatever was tormenting Ynnead but he could not let this continue anymore and still keep his soul. He tore open the door.

"You want me you beast? Then you..." And then his eyes fell upon her. He had never seen such perfection. In that single moment his life became complete. All the anger and fear of his life melted away before her gaze.

"...you can have me."

Rising well over three meters of the white ground stood the most beautiful thing that existed. Slender hooves gave way to luscious legs between which the center of all the world's desire rested. The marbled black and pink skin rose like fire over the goddess hairless naked body, over the heaving breasts and kissing the swanlike neck before coming to rest in her radiant red eyes. Atop of her head she wore the crown of beauty: Two magnificent horns that twisting up from her flawless form, completing perfection itself. This was Slaanesh in all her magnificence, She Who Thirsts, doom of the Eldar. Awash in blood from head to toe. But to Tiohja that only added to her beauty. For to look upon her is to lose your soul.

The only thing that fouled the picture was the ugly broken toy at her feet. It's mouth moved as it reached out for Tiohja. A thin smoky tendril formed between them. Suddenly he felt uneasy about the scenery. It was as if the paint was starting to peel from the perfect being in front of him. And his eyes widened in horror as he started to see what was underneath.

 _She thinks the mouse should go to sleep now_

A heavy hoof came down fragile neck with a crunch and the ugly thing fell still. The smoky tendril vanished and the world returned to it's polished perfect state before Tiohja eyes. Slaanesh looked back at him with a vapid look, pouting her mouth and looking sad.

 _She does not like being called a beast. It makes her sad._

Tiohja fell to his knees, bursting into tears. How could he have offended such a creature? Was he a brute without the slightest emotion within? Still standing in the doorway he bowed his head as in prayer.

"Tell me what I must do, mistress! I will do anything! Anything!"

Slaanesh stretched out her arms and licked her lips. Batting her eyelids she whispered in a shy voice.

 _She needs a hug to feel better_

He wanted nothing more than to race towards her. But something stopped him. Something had reached out and grabbed Tiohja from behind. What insolence! It was some old disgusting thing, screaming nonsense. One good forceful kick to the head and it let go, whimpering back in pain. Tiohja quickly got to his feet and ran towards perfection. In just a few steps he was there, falling into her waiting embrace. Pleasure exploded in his body like electricity as she touched him. Her arms closed around him and covered him in blood.

 _She is happy! But to you know how she would be even happier?_

Nothing have ever held Tiohja focus such as this. He longer for the next word so that he could be of service. Reluctantly he let go of her embrace so she could show him. Slaanesh spun around in an elaborate pirouette, laughing. Her hands outstretched she highlighted him the scene around her.

 _She wants to continue painting! Such a pretty pretty picture!_

The white space was splashed with dark red blood. It was art such as have never been seen. Slaanesh prodded Ynnead's prone body with her hoof. The girl didn't move.

 _But this jar has run out. How can she finish the painting without paint?_

The chaos god hung her head and her divine posture slumped. Tiohja's heart ached with artificial pain. But then her face lit up again.

 _But she spies with her little eye another jar! Right over there!_

Cheekily Slaanesh pointed a slender clawed hand towards the cowering Itilith who had crawled after him through the door, covering her eyes with her hand. Blindly she fumbled around for him, sobbing and calling out. Of course! How could Tiohja have missed that? Merrily he strode over and grabbed the living can of paint by the hair.

"No no no no no" the paintcan yammered as it struggled to escape his grasp. It begged Tiohja to stop and asked him to remember. But what was there to remember? He looked up and saw his mistress beckoning him back. That was all he needed. There was nothing but the magnificent one in his mind and heart. With an immense sense of pride he dragged his sobbing and pleading discarded lover back towards the goddess. He threw the shaking eldar at Slaanesh feet and was rewarded with a passionate kiss. Pleasure bloomed like fireworks within him.

 _Now she can finish the painting!_

* * *

Slaanesh looked upon the finished piece and was pleased. There was such beauty in the death of hope and the crippling of fragile things. And of course the desecration of that which had been pure. Now even the memory of this place would be tainted forever. Today, once again chaos stood triumphant. All that was left now was how to top it all off. The solution came to her with a savage smile.

 _It is done. Does he like it?_

"It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen" Tiohja's eyes shone with fanatical fervor, saliva running from the corners of his mouth.

 _She has to go. But she will come for him again. She promises..._

Slaanesh let her hand brush Tiohja's stomach as she walked past, smiling. Before leaving the hoofed monstrosity squated over the broken unconscious body of the little girl. An acrid sharp smell mixed with the sweet sticky smell of blood. Tiohja watched it all in awe, his eyes blank. Having signed her artwork the victorious beast rose and spoke one last time.

 _She thinks: she does not have to kill the mouse. The mouse should know. There are worse things than death._

Then she was gone. Tiohja was left alone. Staring after her as she pranced away into the white eternity, leaving red hoofprints behind.

Staring after what? Where was he? His mind was...hazy. Cloudy. Like he was waking from a fever dream. Something cold fell on his nose. A snowflake. He looked up. Snow was falling from above. From far away he could hear a fierce wind howling. Still drowsy Tiohja rubbed his face in his hands but immediately withdrew them. As his did so he banged his head against the mountain wall behind him. Why was there blood on his hands? He fumbled for his stomach. There was no wound there anymore. Whose blood was this? Attempting to dry of the blood on the snow he reached down. But on the ground he found something else. A torn, blood stained white dress. He looked around a little further and found a broken doll, the delicate porcelain face crushed in.

Something about them seemed...familiar.

Above him the storm was picking up again, reaving with mountain with slashes of wind. Stormclouds roared and lightning flashed. In a small mercy it drowned out his despair as he remembered.


	8. The call of fate - part 1

The grass tickled Imisha's toes as she wiggled them playfully. Her loose hair was splayed across the mountain side, all but the long elaborate twin braid that marked her as an occupied woman in traditional exodite culture. The gas giant the maiden world orbited shone down on her naked body, the sweat of the night's activities slowly lifting into the cool air. She yawned like a cat and stretched in all directions, letting the ground scrub and massage her back like a giant brusch.

Imisha turned on her side and looked at her beloved exodite chieftain. He layed on his back beside her, his eyes closed and breathing steady. Outwards Davar gave the impression of a stoic man of few words. In private he still choose his words carefully, it was one of the things Imisha liked about the man. But what she loved was that inside him was always a fury just barely contained. From battlefury to lovemaking his soul was like volcano. Peaceful on the outside but raging hot inside. She both admired his control and was drawn to his uncontrollable fire. This delicate balance was why she had fallen for him.

She hadn't told him she was pregnant yet. Never mind that she was carrying triplets. Imisha smiled to herself. The man would lose his mind with joy and pride. Their children would be heirs to this world. Imisha herself would be queen if she wanted. But she wasn't ready for that yet. He hadn't asked her why she was back or pushed her for either commitment nor explanations. Smart, for Imisha was not a woman who reacted to pressure in any form lightly. But since Eldar pregnancies were long drawn out affairs she had plenty of time before her body began to tattle on her. For now she just wanted to...be. And being pregnant wasn't half bad, Imisha mused and giggled to herself like a maiden. Once the nausea had subsided and been replaced with more...pleasant emotions it was all quite enjoyable. Imisha had never had a very strong sex drive even for an Eldar but these days if she went without it she was quickly climbing on the walls. Luckily Davar was happy to oblige her.

And the pregnancy gave her a much needed excuse to rest. The first night back she had taken a bath and really looked at herself for the first time in a long time. And it hadn't been a pretty sight. Imisha had never been a great beauty or really cared that much for her appearance, mostly keeping up appearances for political reasons. But this time she had been frightened. Who was this ragged old woman who stared back at her in the mirror? What had become of the youngest warlock in the craftworld's history? Imisha looked hundred of years older than she was. Pale skin tight over the gaunt face, lifeless hair, black circles under her eyes and nothing even remotely enticing about her figure. She had curled up in a ball and cried that night until Davar had stormed into her room and without a word declared open war on her insecurities in a way only he could.

She still hadn't decided what to do with herself in the long run. It simply wasn't in her nature to do nothing. So while spending her days wandering the moon and nights having sex was wonderful for now in the long run she knew she would need something else to occupy herself with. She thought of the exodites who had welcomed her with open arms. Silently she was ashamed for her previously opinions about them. Yes they were in many ways a crude slow witted people that were a lot less refined that their brilliant craftworld cousins. But they also had zest for life that she so envied. And life here was so simple. These people were happy, content. Even in death. Seeing them made Imisha wonder if she had ever been happy. She wanted to be part of it. Surely there must be way in which she could contribute. The birth of the children were still far away.

Going back to the craftworld seemed less and less like an option with every passing day. It was like that part of her was gone. She had shed her skin and emerged anew. And she found she had little urge to climb back into the old discarded role. All the political bickering and shadow play of the craftworld that she had never enjoyed in the first place now seemed downright repulsive to her. Never mind the fact that if she was honest with herself her political powerbase was effectively gone. She stroked her stomach and smiled. And good riddance to it.

Not that it had been easy to accept her new fate. At first it had been a bitter pill to swallow. She had worked so hard so long to reach the position she was in. And serving her people was her first and foremost calling, had always been and would always be. But the recent situation had shaken her confidence. What if there would have been war with the Imperium? Deep down she knew it was a war the craftworld could not afford. In the end it was likely that they would have had to withdraw, leaving the maiden worlds and the exodites on them to their fate. As she studied Davar's slow breathing she was thankful it had not come to that.

But when she saw the parade of worn Void Stalker battleships and Eclipse cruisers returning from patrol she truly understood exactly how a big a deal then recent truce with the humans were. Some of the ships were just barely holding together. The shipyards were packed to the brim of battered ships that finally had the chance to be put in dry dock for maintenance. Having long since lost their edge in ground combat the Eldar heavily leaned on their fleets for survival. But there was never enough of them, so it usually came down to the odd cruiser and smaller craft to desperately try to hold off much larger vessels. But soon, as one commander had grimly pointed out they would find out if the enemies of the craftworld enjoyed picking on something their own size. So as soon as the first ships started rotating back into service she had decided: If there ever was a time for her to go, it was now.

Especially comforting was the newly christened _Stablemaster's Pet_ prototype battleship that had started hunting the sector like a long starved predator. Originally meant to relieve the fleets protecting the maiden worlds it could now be tested properly. The commander had started using a very unorthodox tactic. He had started stalking Imperial convoys that traveled the edge of the sector. This in itself was nothing new, raiders had all put perfected the strategy of the millenias. But instead of attacking the lightly escorted convoys themselves he used them as bait for bigger fish. So when orc or chaos raiders descended upon the convoys a black shadow lay in wait for them. Hungry, eager to test the sharpness of it's new teeth and claws. Imisha had been a commander for over twenty years and never before had she seen a string of reports so positive. If only all the Void Stalkers could be retrofitted with the new synchronized disruption array the _Stablemaster's Pet_ carried _._

Traditionally Eldar used pulsars as ship weapons since given the distances in space disruption cannons were too unreliable in anything but point blank range. But then some clever bonesinger had in what she suspected was an accident figured out that multiple disruption blasts could be configured to converge if fired simultaneously, effectively increasing the range if multiple batteries could be linked together. But it required at least a hundred linked cannons firing at the same nanosecond to have any real effect. Thus in the carnage of ground combat this new technology was not really applicable. But a hundred stripped down miniaturized cannons could just barely be fitted onto a battleship. One hundred twenty seven to be exact.

After many delays the end result was a horribly expensive still inaccurate dangerously short range weapon with a long reload time and thus at best only a complement to traditional weaponry. But it had turned out surprisingly effective, mostly because that traditional Eldar pulsar weapons outranged the space weapons of other races. That meant that enemies tended to try to engage Eldar fleets at close range to try to level the playing field. And although most engagements sofar have been against smaller vessels, the tests consistently pointed towards that engaging the _Stablemaster's Pet_ at close range was not advisable.

And on top of this Imisha had even received an official imperial communiqué thanking the craftworld for the assistance against the raiders and noting that the mining deal was proceeding satisfactory. It was of course a not so subtle reminder from the Imperium that they were well aware of the Eldar weapons test. Imisha didn't care. Even with the current ceasefire it was good that they knew that the craftworld still had teeth. If only the cursed princess could have picked a better name for the ship. But she had insisted, claiming it was an honorary title based on her favorite book.

Come to think of it Imisha hadn't seen the nosy exodite princess since their encounter in her craftworld quarters. She remembered very little of what had been said, only that the princess had explained to her that she was pregnant and advised her to go back to the maiden world. Imisha hadn't been hard to convince. There was no way she would been able to keep her pregnancy hidden at the craftworld for long. But here where the world turned slower and she had plenty of time to herself it was different game. Here she could come to terms with things at her own pace. So after staging a hissy fit about withdrawing the battleships from the maiden worlds she had insisted that she didn't trust the humans and wanted to monitor that the kept their part of the bargain. And stormed out on the first ship out. In reality she found the bulk of the Imperial forces long gone. Scouts had reported that the forward space marine base that had been established in the sector had been abandoned. With the mining situation resolved a couple of verdant moons just wasn't enough to warrant anything more than a token presence this far out. The princess logic was clear: Why fight for something that you could get for free?

"Danivar?" She poked Davar and got a grunt in response. The extra ni was an exodite language quirk that was used for loved ones. She was now Iminisha to the chieftain.

"Whatever happened to your niece?"

The exodite chieftain folded his brow, thinking hard.

"I thought she travelled to your world"

"No she just visited briefly. She didn't come back?" Imisha heard that her voice carried a worried tone. Where did that come from, she thought to herself.

"That one comes and goes as she likes. But she has the spirit of the dragon. I am sure she is fine."

The last sentence struck Imisha like a bolt of lightning. She gasped and sat upright in a jerk. For the briefest instance an image flashed in her mind. An image of a little girl lying in a pool of her own blood.

Farsight is a strange thing. And even at the best of times it was most surely a vague thing. Countless paths leading in all directions. It it like a galaxy full of yarn balls all tangled together. The job of a farseer it try to figure out which thread would lead to the best possible future and to try to follow it through the maze of the future. To even make sense of the chaos of possibilities was all but impossible and then to try to weigh one inconclusive sign against another was the epitome of frustration. The princess had been right, Imisha had been a lousy farseer, lacking both the patience and judgement required. Lately she hadn't even tried, steadily moving away from the craft altogether.

But this was different. All the sudden there was one path and one path only. One single fragile golden thread spiralling into eternity that was unlike all the others. One faint smile in room full of frowns. One vision of a way forward for her children. In that instant of clarity Imisha could see the end of all things she loved at the end of every other twist of fate. And one, just one last chance for a throw of the die that might, just might see it all end in anything but fire. It was a faint light in the night but in all other directions there was nothing but utter darkness. Imisha had never been so sure of anything in her life. Fate beckoned and she had to follow. Not even bothering with clothes she got to her feet and sprinted stark naked down the mountain into the night.

"Iminisha! What is it?" Davar stumbled off the ground and shouted after her in confusion.

"What is it with the women in this family?" He grumbled as he fumbled for his pants and ran after her.


	9. The call of fate - part 2

"What do you mean you can't see it?!" Imisha struggled to contain her frustration.

"I keep telling you: There is nothing to see" her old colleague responded. His hands flowed over the runes displayed on the central table in the dimly lit chamber. None of them pointed towards the golden path centered on the young exodite princess Imisha could see in her mind's eye. The damned runes had never been her friend, except for the ones used to channel death and destruction. By Khaine she wished she could use those right now. Because she could hardly tell the council that the vision had come to her directly. Without the use of runes. Such interactions were forbidden and paramount to walking the path of damnation. Thus she now looked like a raving lunatic. The rest of the assembled seers looked uncomfortably at each other.

Upon rushing back to the craftworld Imisha had immediately called for a session of the seer council. She had expected them to already be aware of the vision, given it's clarity and her own meager abilities. Instead she had been met with suspicion and confusion. Not a one of them seemed to understand what she was talking about.

Across her stood the elderly Omorio who now spoke for the council. A member of the preservation faction, extreme conservatists who tended to oppose any and all suggestions and changes. Defeatists is what Imisha used to call them. And still do. Omorio especially was an old naysayer who never accomplished anything. His only redeeming feature stood next to him in the form of his young apprentice. The lovely Ikaria, or Ika as the was called among friends. A great talent and beauty, the your warlock had an exceptional delicate touch when it came to weaving and reading the fates. Her face was as if cut out of marble, absolutely flawless. And she had those great green eyes framed by long flowing copper bright hair. No women in the craftworld could compete with her exquisite elegance and had Imisha relied on her looks she would have hated the girl. As it was she had been charmed by the young seer's honesty and delicate touch both in political and spiritual matters.

The other factions were all there as well. The religious faction, a bunch of dimwitted fools who talked about peace and beauty and failed to see the reality of the galaxy. The crafters faction, bonesingers and artisans who tended to listen more than they spoke. Yet when they did so they never seemed to agree with Imisha. And lastly the speakers faction, filled with spies and diplomats. These seers knew the most of the outside world and but contrary to their name also seldom spoke directly. But you could hear their words in the voices of others they had convinced or coerced to speak on their behalf. The only faction not present were the seers who tended the dead, the spirit seers. Strange Imisha mused, she had never seen them miss a meeting before.

The doors to the chamber opened and another seer entered. The male was older than Imisha but not as old as the other members of the council. Black short hair and a grim pointy face framed a hard eye and a mouth that never smiled. Through the other eye ran a giant scar, a kiss from a chainsword. At last some support Imisha thought. Varunastra had been a long time ally of hers in the martial faction. If anything he had been even more extreme than she was. Together they had been the strongest voices for all out war against the humans.

"Finally someone who can see reason! Varunastra surely you..." she began but stopped when she saw the look he gave her. One of utter contempt and disgust.

"Why is there a whore in the council chambers? Are we so short on both space and decency that we must share our sacred chambers with the likes of her?" her old ally declared in a tightly repressed voice.

He knew. How Imisha had no idea. She had been so careful. But it meant that meant the others also knew. And that explained a lot. But of course he would be the one who reacted the strongest. Their faction had after all stood for Eldar purity and superiority in all it's forms. And craftworld supremacy especially. While Imisha was mainly concerned with human expansion Varunastra had always been obsessed with recreating the glory days of the old Eldar empire. The exodites, having turned their backs to the ways of old were nothing but traitors to him. The news that his former apprentice carried the children on an exodite must have shattered him. Mixing bloodlines among the different Eldar cultures was frowned upon in general but totally abhorred by the martial faction.

"I thought you would atleast have had the courtesy to stay away. Yet even in that regard, you manage to _disappoint_." Her old mentor spat out the last words. His hatred for her supposed betrayal shone from him like a blazing flame.

Imisha met his gaze but did not respond. He was an expert orator and debater and would have no trouble crushing her verbally. But he was old and she was still young. In real combat the odds would shift in her favour. Keeping the gaze between them like a tightrope Varunastra walked over to the table where the runes laid splayed.

"What is this nonsense? What have you two cooked up?" he snapped accusingly at Omorio. Clever. Grouping him and Imisha together would naturally cause the elder seer to distance himself even further from her.

"I was just asking _your_ colleague here the same thing. She claims that there is nexus point in the fates focused on some exodite princess. But as you can see no such point exists." Omorio sniffed and responded with the expected defensive tone.

"Is this why you crawled out from whatever carnal corner of the galaxy you have been hiding in? To make a fool of us?" With the crowd now behind him Varunastra rounded on Imisha.

"I have brought this before you all because I see everything else end in fire. The princess must be found." Imisha had a voice on loop in her head. Be calm. Be calm. Be calm. If she lost her cool it was all over.

"You don't say?" Varunastra walked over to the rune table. He quickly looked at the pattern again and then with one flick of his hand swept the runes onto the floor. They clattered eerily on the stone tiles below.

"No!" Imisha cried out. She didn't know why. The runes had not supported her story anyway. But seeing then on the floor dashed her last hope that someone would see. Someone would understand. Her old mentor walked briskly up to her, face to face.

"Let's make one thing clear: _You_ have brought _us_ nothing but shame."

"Imisha has brought us peace!" Ikaria blurted out. Her master raised his hand angrily and silenced her. The young warlock hung her head in shame, regretting her words. From her own faction's perspective the peace had been a great victory but for the martial faction it has been a great defeat.

"Whore and traitor both then." Varunastra simply noted. He continued with cold ease, circling Imisha.

"It all makes sense to me now. This...unholy alliance that was forced upon us. A crude proposition for a crude people. I'm guessing you let yourself get passed yourself around the entire monkey delegation. Like a once fine drinking glass used a drinking trough for a herd of animals. Letting the beasts slake their filthy lust inside your flesh."

"That is not what happened!" It was so absurd Imisha didn't know what else to say. That he would say such a thing about her. They had been friends and allies for decades. He had been the one to first guide her down the path of the seer. And now she was the enemy just because she had tried to carve out a little happiness for herself.

"And barely had you got back to civilization before you raced back. Now we know why. Your appetite for indecency rivals the great enemy herself. Look at yourself. Like a soiled used up rag that have soaked up too much filth and is now good for nothing." Varunastra droned on.

"How dare you? After all I did for you! All I did I have done for our people?!" For a second Imisha lost her temper and almost screamed the words back at him.

"Then do you deny that which you carry inside you?" The elderly Omorio interjected, confirming Imisha's suspicions that he too knew about her pregnancy.

"I fail to see how that is any concern of yours in the slightest." Imisha straightened her back and pushed down her anger. Though some of it trickled out through her body language. She was taller than both of the men. And stronger. They would do well to remember that. Omorio took a slight step backwards when he saw her face.

"So you deny it?" Varunastra insisted.

This caught Imisha off guard for a moment. But she could not simply deny the existence of her unborn children. She just couldn't.

"I deny nothing. I carry _three Eldar_ children within me." She said proudly. The room fell silent. Only Ikaria let go of a short squeal of delight before she regained control. Insulting a mother was a great offense. Insulting a mother of three was close to sacrilege. Children were rare and a great blessing to the dwindling Eldar people. But there will always be those who value pride over life.

"And can we assume that they are pure and not some half breed spawn of a simple minded savage?" Varunastra sneered, obviously already knowing the answer.

The cup inside Imisha ran over. It didn't matter than at one time she might very well have uttered those same words. It didn't matter than everyone in the room had at one point or another been a friend or colleague of hers. For hatred is a fickle and unfaithful mistress, quick to shift her affections once you let her into your heart. Unwittingly her hand had reach into her pocket and started stroking the eldritch rune she always carried there. It responded to it's master's call and lightning flashed between Imisha's concealed fingertips. Inside the warp a furious storm started to roar. It had long boiled within her like a pressure cooker and she could no longer keep it in. Subconsciously the warrior within her began picking targets. She locked eyes with Varunastra and her glare promised that he would pay for insulting her children. Not him nor anyone else in this room was a match for her. But a split second before she unleashed her indignation Ikaria managed to quickly sneak up behind her and place a hand on her shoulder. The soft touch possibly saved their lives.

"The lives within you are worth more than his." the young warlock whispered in her ear. Imisha swallowed hard and with great effort pushed down her fury. Breathing heavy she clenched her fist and jaw so hard they hurt. Inside her the spirit of Khaine screamed for blood and vengeance.

"Shamed to silence I see." Varunastra noted smugly.

"Please master. Imisha's condition aside her vision might be important. Should we not atleast consider it?" Ikaria pleaded with Omorio, head lowered in respect, her long red hair spilling out in front of her face.

"That some lost exodite princess would be the key to our future? Absurd." the elder farseer dismissed his apprentice. Behind him others murmured in agreement.

"I find it more likely that Imisha is here on some mission from her wildling lover to misuse our meager resources for her own selfish reasons. It only shows how far she has fallen that she now values some random runaway savage over her own people." Varunastra interjected.

"There is more to her and you all know it. This respite we now enjoy was her doing. She managed to coax you lot to name a battleship according to her will. Even the humans seem reluctant to cross her. And I have discovered she was linked to several other incidents, all for our benefit mind you. Did you never question how some 'random runaway savage' managed to do all that? She is supposed to be a famous princess. Yet not one person I spoke with can even tell me her name. Even my..." at that point Imisha bit her tongue.

"Can really none of you see it?" Imisha almost pleaded. The future was so clear to her. And every second she spend here arguing it slipped further and further away. She looked from face to face, all serene and accusing. Only Ikaria took a breath as if to say something but swallowed it down and lowered her eyes to the floor. Imisha could not believe it, was she really going insane?

"This council will no longer listen to the mad ramblings of harlots. I vote to exclude Imisha from this council and strip her of her position. She is clearly not fit to be among us anymore."

Silently, one by one, the assembled farseers started raising their hands in agreement. Before they could be counted Imisha's turned her back on them and walked out. She left with her head held high but her spirit was crawling in the dirt.

* * *

Imisha stormed out of the council chambers, fuming. A part of her wanted them to be right. Wanted her to be wrong. That would have been so much easier. But the vision was so clear. She couldn't even follow the other threads of fate in her mind anymore. They all ended with her children dead. Or worse. No, she had no choice. She had to find the exodite princess, that was the first step. And time was running out. If the council would not help her she would talk directly to the fleet commanders. Someone must know what ship the princess left on.

Not looking up she rounded a corner and ran straight into someone. Her normally flat and manageable chest that had already started to swell and ache squashed painfully up against the massive bulk. She swore and looked up. It was Davar. The last person she wanted to see. Imisha had been in such a rush to get back that she almost hadn't noticed that he had tagged along. And while he hadn't said anything Imisha knew he didn't approve of her coming back here. Nor did he seem very convinced by her vision. On the whole his presence sure didn't make it any easier for her to do what she came the craftworld for.

She tried to shield her feelings but one look at her and he knew.

"They didn't believe you?" he probed.

"No they did not." Imisha snapped back. Stating the obvious did no good. He tried to pull her in a hug but she rebuffed him.

"I need to get going. Some one on this damned world must know where that brat went." Her body language told him to get out the way. His normally perceptive senses seemed to have lapsed for he just stood still, blocking her way forward.

"Iminisha, we need to talk."

"Not now ok?" she turned him away in annoyment and tried to storm past him. To her great surprise he stopped her, holding her arm fast in a firm grip.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he sounded hurt.

"Tell you what?" she snapped but it just sounded stupid. He just looked at her in return.

"I don't have time for this!" she snarled and try to wriggle free from his grasp. He didn't let go.

"Let me go!" she tried to pry his hand off but it was like an iron vice.

"I have a right to know. Are they mine?"

Imisha hit him straight in the face with her free hand. Not a slap, a full closed fist punch. He didn't so much as flinch. She hit him again as hard as she could. Still no reaction. It only infuriated her further.

"How dare you even ask me that? Let. Me. Go."

"No" Davar's voice was calm and controlled. He looked her straight in the face. She shot a defiant hateful glare back at him.

"We can't go on like this. It might have been fine when it was just the two of us. I could be content being your exotic toy. Someone you could love when it suited you and then discard when you got bored. But this is different." He probably didn't mean for it to be an accusation, but it sure came out that way.

"Discard when I got bored? You self centered arsehole! Everything isn't about you! Aren't you even the least worried about your niece?"

"She can handle herself. I am more worried about you."

"That's just terrific. You think I am mad as well! Just great! Out of everyone I thought atleast you..."

"I don't think you are mad. I think you are running away."

"I am not running away. I have had a vision. But I guess it is too much to expect a savage like you to understand!"

"I might be a savage but I know you are not thinking clearly. And I am the father of your children. I won't allow you to run off and get yourself killed on some fool's errand just because you are afraid of commitment."

"You won't allow me?" Imisha's voice turned cold. "Oh I see. It's like that now. I am to be your dutiful subservient wife." Imisha made an elegant yet mocking curtsy." 'Yes master'. 'No master'. 'Can I please go to the toilet master?' You think just because I climbed into bed with you that you own me? That I am some housebroken little craftworld broodmare to that you can claim as a prize to mount on your wall?"

Davar stared back at her but she could see the fury boiling behind his eyes. He still had her arm in an iron grip.

"We are done here. One last time: Let me go."

"Not until you calm down" Davar responded. That was the wrong thing to say.

"I SAID LET GO!" In the scream all of Imisha's pent up rage came flooding out all at once. Instinctively she plunged her free hand into her pocket and gripped the destruction rune hidden there with all her might. Clear sky blue warp lightning leapt from her eyes and mouth onto Davars body. His eyes widened and he stumbled down to his knees, bringing them almost face to face. Imisha's roar lit up the corridor as she channeled the deadly eldritch storm into her lover at point blank range. Once the floodgates were opened they could not be closed. Crackling sparks poured into Davar's mouth and ears, lighting up his skull from the inside. His mouth moved as if he trying to speak but then the eyes glazed over and he dropped to the floor face down, stilling holding onto her. The air smelled of ozone and burnt hair.

"Don't you EVER try to force me do something I don't want to do! You hear me?" Davar didn't respond. Finally she could loosen his grasp on her arm. His hand fell lifeless to the floor. Imisha stood over him, panting. The lightning had stopped flowing from her but the rage was still there.

"Why did you make me do that? Why?! I told you to let go! I told you!" she screamed at him. She kicked the prone exodite in frustration. Still, he remained quite still. Underneath her hot fury Imisha turned ice cold inside.

"It's not my fault! It isn't! It's your fault! You made me do it!" she pointed accusingly at him, lying there motionless on the floor. The cold was rising within her. She started walking back and forth in front of him, not knowing what to do with herself. Her hands started to shake. She placed a trembling hand in front of her mouth as she realized what she had done. But then Davar groaned and coughed. At the end of the corridor two of his tribesmen appeared, no doubt drawn here by the commotion.

"You there!" Imisha commanded while she still had some resemblance of control over herself. "Get this weakling out of my sight!" As the tribesmen rushed to support the injured chieftain Imisha reached for her belt knife and drew it. With one swift cut she sliced off her braid and threw the tuft of hair at his feet in one final act of spite. Then she turned her heel and marched away in the opposite direction.

* * *

Once she was out of the way Imisha collapsed along a wall. Everything was falling apart in front of her very eyes. She hadn't meant to hurt him. It cut into her that she had done it anyway. She looked at her arms where he had held her fast. It wouldn't even bruise. He had known exactly how much strength had been needed to keep her in place without hurting her. Such control. And in return she had almost killed him in a fit of rage. She had almost killed the father of her children. Oh god the children. Is this the kind of mother she would be? Would she one day hurt them too? Or get them killed before they even had a chance to be born?

In a miserable whimper she lowered her face into her hands and wept uncontrollably. She could feel her mind unravelling behind her eyes. The strict ritualistic shield that kept her fragile soul shielded from the dangers of the warp was crumbling. And without it there was nothing between her and She Who Thirsts.

For the craftworld Eldar the paths are more than a culture, they are a necessity for survival. They kept the mind in check, focusing and restricting its energies so that it will not run rampant. For the Eldar mind is as dangerous as it is beautiful. Every Eldar knew what it could do when unchained. It had all but killed their race. Imisha had never been the most stable of individuals to begin with and she was almost in between paths, having all but accepted her limitations as a seer. Thus every emotional outburst was like a battering ram against the feeble walls keeping her sanity in place. She could already feel the vortex like pull of Slaanesh tugging at the edges of the soul. Maybe just letting go wouldn't be so bad?

In her misery Imisha didn't hear the soft footsteps approaching and before she could dry the tears from her eyes a swath of perfect red hair appeared in her blurry vision. Ikaria sat down next to the devastated farseer, pulling her close in a tight embrace. Not as a seer. Not even as a fellow Eldar. As one woman to another, through the bond that all members of the lifegiving sex seem to share.

"Oh Ika" Imisha sobbed into the warlock's silk robe. Had it been anyone else Imisha probably would have lashed out. And no one else would have had the guts to just sit down and hug the volatile Imisha. That kind of courage and affection could be disarming. Without a word Ikaria wrapped her own mind around the farseer's wounded soul, shielding her and her unborn children from pull of the great enemy. Like a fierce sentinel in the warp she stood watch until Imisha could collect herself enough to raise tentative walls around her mind once again. And so Imisha cried and cried until the tears would not come anymore. At last she looked up at her friend. She saw in the look she got back that she was a mess. But she was still there.

"What happened to your braid? I liked it" Ikaria stroked her hair, trying to straighten it out.

Imisha reached up to the point where her braid had been. Now there was just a short ragged stump of hair. She could not find the words in which to answer the warlock. Ikaria, noting the silence changed topic.

"Look. There are a lot of people who think Varunastra crossed more than one line. I talked to the religious faction and they was aghast of the language that was used. Even Omorio seemed regretful. Give me a few weeks and I will have him wrapped around my little finger. If you would just denounce your prophecy, admit that you were wrong I am sure your misstep will be forgiven and you will be let back in no time. After all you aren't the first girl to get knocked up and go a little crazy." Ikaria prodded Imisha with her elbow and got a weak smile in return.

It would be so easy. Just walk away from it all. Davar, the prophecy. All of it. Let the children be raised among the others in the craftworld. More or less go back to her old life. She would have to change faction but surely one of the other political groupings would value Imisha's navy contacts and martial skill. And as a mother of three she would be something quite extraordinary. Even if her children were not pure craftworld Eldar.

"I can't" Imisha finally said.

"I understand how you feel. We have all..." Ikaria started.

"No Ika. You don't. You really don't." The image of the little princess covered in blood was now etched into Imisha's soul. Alongside the knowledge of her own children sharing the same fate. Unless she acted. She would never be able to push that feeling aside. It was part of her now. And if that made her crazy then so be it. Imisha looked up and into the eyes of her younger counterpart. Ikaria was so sweet and giving. So beautiful and full of promise. Sticking up for Imisha at the council meeting and lobbying her case afterwards must have cost her precious political capital. And if she continued to do so she might very well loose her bright future.

"You should be getting back. Your absence will be noted. Go now. I will be fine."

Ikaria opened her mouth to protest but Imisha hardened her eyes and put a hint of steel in her voice. Straightening her back she locked eyes with Ikaria in a way that she knew would get her message through.

"Thank you for your assistance _apprentice._ But I wish to be alone now. Please respect the wishes of your elders."

Looking confused and hurt Ikaria bowed her head, got to her feet and quickly pattered away. As the last strand of copper hair disappeared around the corner Imisha slumped down again. The immediate danger of letting go had passed but her situation had not. She was now quite alone, all her allies and friends alienated and pushed away. Perhaps it was for the best. The path ahead would be a lonely one. Imisha allowed a few final tears to fall before she steeled herself to get up.

Then a shadow fell upon her.

"Ikaria, please just leave me alone!" she struck out her arms and looked up, not even bothering to dry her tears.

The horned face of the great enemy looked down on her from within a hooded cowl. One half of the face was contorted in rage and hunger while the other smiled seductively at her. For a split second Imisha panicked in primal fear until she realized it was but a mask. Beneath the cacophonic display of pain and pleasure stretched an extravagant yet patched pink and black cape all the way to the ground. And underneath that the hints of an even more elaborate costume could be gleaned. A harlequin. But not just any harlequin. A solitaire. The performer tasked with playing the doom of the Eldar in the dance without end. From beneath the mask cold unfeeling eyes studied Imisha. Then the harlequin turned around and started walking away down the hallway. A deep sing song female voice reached back towards the stunned farseer.

"She thinks: The seer seems lost. Yet also seeking that which has been lost."

There was a small pause as the Solitaire stopped, leaning her head to one side as if pondered her own statement. Her finger tapped the daemon mask lightly. Then she turned around in a whirl of her cloak. The mask was grinning.

"She has decided: She likes the symmetry."

Before Imisha could blink the Solitaire was back right next to her. She moved so fast that if it hadn't been for the rush of displaced air you would think she had simply appeared from out of nowhere. Imisha was no stranger to the speed at which the Eldar could move. She had seen everything for howling banshees to jetbikes flash before her eyes. But this was different. It was like there was something wrong with it. No living thing was supposed to move that fast. The harlequin came to rest just in front of Imisha in a hunter crouch. The mask was now just an inch from Imisha face. She could feel the Solitaire's breath on her face, smell her strong musky perfume. See the whites of those cold eyes as they looked straight into her. The deep husky sing song voice spoke again, this time in a whisper so faint it almost couldn't be heard.

"She wonders: Shall the seer and the dancer go look for death together?"

And there it was. Right there in the icy eyes of the Solitaire. The golden thread of hope, spiralling into the future. So once again Imisha followed the call of fate blindly into the night.


	10. Master and mistress

For two and half weeks they had been at it. Two and a half weeks of sitting around doing nothing, jumping from one system to another traveling with human refugees transports in seemingly random directions. No one payed any attention to two extra slender hooded figures in the crowds. Their latest trip found them on a rusty old freighter carrying displaced people away from a warzone.

Imisha had been forced to reevaluate her picture of humans during this latest time. Previously she had always thought of them only as aggressors, as savage beasts that must be resisted at all costs. Perhaps that is because the only humans she had come in contact with had been space marines, imperial commanders and inquisitors. She never really met a regular everyday human. Well she had now. She had seen thousands upon thousands of them. Whether it had improved her opinion of them or made her hate them even more she wasn't quite sure of.

They were most certainly more beasts than intelligent beings. It was mind numbing to Imisha how humans could feel so little, to be so unaware of their surroundings and stumble around so clumsily every time they moved. To her they all seemed like drunken half blind simpletons. At first she had wondered if it was all an act. A way to lull her into a false sense of security. Surely the race that all but ruled the galaxy could not be this dim witted. But it was no act.

For what she seen made Imisha envy them their blunted minds. During the last weeks she had seen starving children eaten alive by dogs, seen slavers drag a mother from her crying infant and men beating up old women for scraps of food. Reluctantly Imisha had to admit that she had started to feel for the poor human refugees. They might be beasts but even beast should not suffer like this. And in some cases she had seen them get up again and continue onwards. From things that would have broken an Eldar on such a fundamental level that there would have been nothing left. Slowly Imisha had to admit to herself that for all their elegance and brilliance the Eldar seemed fragile when compared to these people.

On top of all the external misery her own guilt and regret gnawed upon her. She had not seen her beloved after she had struck him down at their last meeting. It had been too urgent she had told herself. Truth was she couldn't own up to what she had done. Letting her rage all but kill someone she loved. And not just anyone, the father of her unborn children. He might still be crippled for life after the eldritch onslaught Imisha had unleashed. Imisha didn't know. In her dreams she saw him staggering around on crutches, a wreck of a man who would never be whole again. Perhaps he would never be able to laugh or hunt or make love again. How do you apologize from something like that? How do you make it right again? After thinking long and hard Imisha had come up with an answer: You can't.

Her travelling companion must certainly didn't make the situation any better. If anything Kalitha the Solitaire was frustration impersonated. She blankly refused to give Imisha a reason or destination for their journeys, claiming it was become apparent when they reached their destination. Instead she constantly assaulted Imisha will moral dilemmas from ancient Eldar lore and demanded that the farseer sit and watch as she acted out various stories from the days of old. Never one for history and lore Imisha found it all quite tedious but it was better than staring at the bulkheads. More annoying was when the harlequin taunted Imisha on her reactions to the refugees plights. No matter how she tried to shield her feelings the Solitaire somehow seemed to know exactly what Imisha had in her heart. And always had a pointed jab ready.

Yet despite it all somehow Imisha knew she was on the right track. That any other path would lead to the doom of everything the held dear. The fates told her that she was indeed in the right place at the right time, no matter how little sense it made. So the conclusion was that she had no choice but to sit around, wallow in misery all while enduring more and more elaborate insults. It frustrated her to no end.

Currently they had made camp in a small damp cargo room in the back of a small freighter they were travelling on. In an attempt to avoid the other passengers they often chose the most remote and least desirable parts of the ships to travel in. Imisha was thankful for this. The noise and boling life of the move densely populated areas made her almost nauseous. Not that it was quiet here. Though she much prefered the pounding of the engines and water reclamation systems. Damn humans. Even their ships made noise. Well atleast they were alone here. Or almost.

They shared the small space with two other humans. A mother and her young daughter. At first Imisha had tried her best to scare them away with angry stares and pointed looks. She had even flashed her witchblade. The mother had simply looked back at her with a flat resigned eyes. At that point Imisha had given up. The human had nowhere else to go. She knew the only way she would get rid of them was with violence. And that would draw unwanted attention Imisha told herself. Truth was that underneath the logic a more primal feeling was growing. The thought of unleashing an eldritch onslaught on them gave her a foul taste in her mouth. It felt wrong. Frustrated with herself Imisha instead chose to ignore them completely. But even in that she failed.

Instead she caught herself glancing over at them whenever she could. She watched the mother read to her child. Play with her. Hold her. Comfort her. Imisha had very few memories of her own childhood. From a very early age she had been career focused. Her adolescence had consisted mostly of studying under different masters. Learning runes. Blades. Combat strategies. Sure there had been history and etiquette lessons to break it all up. But it had all been learning. Not a lot of play. Imisha's mother had been strict and demanding. She had instilled in her daughter a hunger for progress and success. And Imisha was thankful for that. It had made her the woman she was today. Yet she couldn't help but to feel a sting of regret when she saw the human girl snuggle up in her mother's lap.

What kind of mother would she become? Imisha shuddered at the thought. What did she know about parenthood? Perhaps it would bet best to do like her own mother, to hand her children off into tutelage by other more experienced people. Her encounter with Davar had clearly shown how unfit she was at all relationships. She wasn't fit to be a mother. Once again she found herself envying the humans. How did the human do it? It was so unfair! That animal seemed to instinctively know when the comfort, when to scold and when to let her child explore and grow. When the child had once curiously approached the two of them Imisha had been scared witless and just sat there with a pin up her arse until the human mother had called her child back. She really didn't know anything at all about children. And yet in a not too distant future she would be expected to care for no less than three of those things. With these kinds of thoughts running around in her head it was no wonder Imisha had trouble falling asleep.

* * *

Imisha awoke with a jerk. Something was happening. Deep down within her she knew it. The fates were moving, the golden thread of hope swirling faster and faster into the future. Hardly surprising Kalitha was already awake. She sat on one of the crates, her legs dangling like a little girl.

"It is close now. The seer can feel it, can't she?"

Imisha rose and shook the last of the sleep out of her body. She sat down next to Kalitha.

"In this next dance the seer must allow the dancer to lead."

Imisha stared skeptically back at the Solitaire.

"Why? What will happen?"

"The seer must promise" Kalitha simply responded. Imisha sighed. The fates were clear. She was where she was supposed to be. Sofar she had trusted Kalitha guiding touch through the darkness. No use giving up now. Like it or not she was committed.

"Fine." She replied at last.

Kalitha nodded and for a while the two children of the stars sat there in silence. The humans were sound asleep in their corner of the room. From the small observation window attached to the wall the light from distant celestial bodies glinted into the dark room. It was almost peaceful. But it was the lull before the storm. Soon enough the fates started to move.

The sound of rough voices came echoing down from the corridor leading into their little corner. Rowdy loud obnoxious guttural voices lacking any form of grace. In short, humans.

Imisha tensed her body. Next to her Kalitha turned her masked face towards Imisha as if to remind her of her previous promise. Imisha gritted her teeth and hunched down on the crate. At this point even the two humans in the room had woken up. The mother looked worried as she glanced over at the two Eldar women sitting on the crate dangling their legs. Urgently rousing her child she quickly tried to pack of their meager belongings. But she was too late. The door from the corridor opened and the noisemakers spilled into the room. There were five of them all in all. Foul smelling, repugnant, thuggish, drunken louts. Again, in short, humans.

"There you are!" The lead thug threw a bottle of some strong smelling liquid that shattered onto the wall. Imisha could see the human female's face turn white in pure terror. She motioned her child behind her and backed against the wall. The thugs moved in on her like a pack of wolves, howling jeers and taunts.

"Thought ya could run, did ya?" The lead thug continued. The human female shook her head, arms out wide shielding her child with her body.

"Then ya have the money, do ya?" The lead thug smiled a grin, showing many missing teeth. It seemed he knew the answer to his question.

"I will get them I promise! You just have to give me more..." The thug wagged his finger and interrupted her, still with that predatory smile on his face.

"Ya see. The boss don't want to give ya more time. He told me to get the money from ya now. Didn't he boys?" The rest of the thugs laughed.

"And I can't very well lie to the boss. Can I now?" He moved in close to the female. His laid his hands upon her and she shivered in disgust.

"Unless ya make it worth me while. Then perhaps I will tell him I could not find ya?" He moved his hand to where no gentleman would place it without consent and squeezed hard. The human female was no solitaire, that was for sure. But Imisha was impressed by how fast her knee connected with the thugs crotch. At first he doubled over in pain. But it had not been a clean hit and he soon recovered.

"Ya bitch!" He backhanded her so hard she fell to the floor. Blood splashed from her broken lip.

"Mommy!" The little daughter ran to her mother in panic.

"Help! Please help us! Please!" The fallen human mother's eyes fell upon the two Eldar. The lead thug followed her gaze. At first he froze when he saw the two xenos sitting there in the shadows, coldly observing. But then he barked a laugh.

"Hah! Think those will help ya? Those be xenos. Them could care less about what happens to ya! Wouldn't ya little xenos?!" He called over to where Imisha and Kalitha were sitting. The two Eldar acted as if none of the humans even existed. The human mother's face fell as despair consumed her. She screeched and clawed at her assailant who easily grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back.

"Now ya be nice. If ya won't do then the little one might. I have one or two of me boys who might like that!" The whole group whooped and chuckled at that. The child crept into the corner and folded her hands over her ears, rocking back and forth.

"No! Not that! I'll do anything! Anything!" The mother begged and started removing her own garments in a wild panic.

Next to Imisha the Kalitha had also started undressing. With unnerving ease garment after garment slid off her like water until the Solitaire jumped down from the crate onto the cold floor, stood fully naked. Except for the daemon mask. Imisha could wager the Solitaire never took it off.

"What are you doing?" Imisha hissed in shock.

"When the spirit is already lost why seek to honor the flesh?" Kalitha shrugged. Then she started walking casually towards the humans. The human female was sobbing as the thugs were ripping her clothing to pieces. In the corner her child huddled in shivers, scared witless.

"Might she perhaps interest the fine gentlemen in something a touch more exotic?" Kalitha said in that weird sing song voice and pranced towards humans. Even in the broken rough human tongue her words flowed from her like threads of silk, mimicking her movements in what must have been an irresistible technique. Imisha didn't even want to think about what images the mask was showing them.

At first the humans seemed taken aback by the sudden appearance of a naked Eldar. They dropped the whimpering human female who crawled back into the corner. Then they moved in on Kalitha.

"Fucking freaky xenos! Never had me one of these before..." The lead thug appraised Kalitha with his eyes. Then he glanced over at Imisha.

"Your friend included? Gotta have something for the boys you see?!" he barked at Kalitha.

"There is really no need, she is more than willing to service all of you." Imisha could see on the faces of the thugs that whatever the daemon mask was showing it was luring them in. They were like fish who had just swallowed the bait whole. Not one of them so much as glanced in Imisha's direction again.

Kalitha bent over a nearby crate, spread her legs, arched her back and pushed out her slim behind. Imisha could hardly believe her eyes. The humans closed in around her with disgusting greed and lust shining from the eyes and dripping from their slobbering jaws. After a short tussle over who would get to go first the lead one fumled with his pants and position himself behind the Solitaire. The sight made Imisha feel sick. But not as sick as what happened next.

Before the human could thrust himself into the Solitaire's flesh the Eldar had instead penetrated him. Suddenly there was device wrapped around her left hand. Imisha caught a glimpse of it. A harlequin's kiss. A weapon of old favoured among the actors in the dance without end. Inside lay a coil of wire only a few molecules thick. The weapon worked by inserting the wire into the target and sent a psychic shockwave through it causing it to trash about widely. Turning the target's insides to soup.

Kalitha swirled around and lifted the whole human off the floor in one smooth motion. Her left hand held him in perfect balance by his diaphragm like the pair was part of an elegant dance routine. Before the human could trash about the solitaire fixed him with a gaze from below. The daemon mask smiled as she flexed her wrist and inserted the nozzle of the harlequins kiss into the hole where humans passed extrement. A series of emotions flashed across the thug's face. First came humiliation. Then came fear. Then pain like he had never known before. And lastly his eyes rolled up into his skull and a red tidal wave rolled down over the Solitaire when his insides flowed out onto the floor. All in the blink of an eye.

The other thugs stood transfixed by the horror before them. Kalitha moaned in pleasure and turned her face into the red downpour. She was quite literally showered in blood. Then the red river had slowed to a trickle she finally lowered her face and opened those cold blue eyes again. With a flick of a her arms the corpse was tossed aside and she turned her attention to the survivors.

The rest of the thugs died less spectacularly but no less quickly. In the end Kalitha was the only one left standing. It struck Imisha that since the Solitaire always fought alone every fight must be like this for her. Left alone with the corpses of her enemies waiting for that last fight when she would find something to rival her immense prowess. And this had not even been a fight, simply an execution.

The female human rushed to the her daughter's side and the two embraced. As the mother frantically checked if her child was unharmed Imisha could not help but to smile. Then a wave of shame washed over her, biting deep. It was not Imisha who had saved the mother and her daughter. She had been the one looking from the sidelines, condemning them to their fate. Why did her own actions sicken her so? They were only humans weren't they? Why should their fate matter to her? Yet it did.

Kalitha just stood still, as if waiting for the humans.

"Tha...thank you! However you are! Thank you!" the human female human stammered at last. Kalitha, still stark naked and covered in the thug's insides bowed in an elegant bow. Then she turned and started walking back towards Imisha. But halfway she stopped and closed her fists as if steeling herself. Finally she lowered her masked head. Imisha could swear she saw the Solitaire sigh in what looked like sorrow. Then she exploded into action again.

Before Imisha could blink heads of the human female and her child were rolling on the floor. The poor bastards never knew what hit them. Her actions again slowing to a crawl, Kalitha collected the heads and placed them respectfully alongside the freshly made corpses. She aligned them so that the mother was embracing her child before placing a blanket over them both. Then she turned back towards Imisha and sat down next to her. The daemon mask remained resolute and stoic while blood dripped from the naked dancer onto Imisha's robes.

"What...why did you do that?" Imisha managed at last.

The solitaire shrugged. "She must play her part. Her mistress sometimes requires sacrifices. Such is the path of damnation. And sacrifices in mating situations pleases her mistress even more." Kalitha looked towards the eviscerated thug. "This seemed like a good opportunity to appease her." Then the solitaire turned to the corpses of the mother and her daughter.

"And her master has recently developed a special dislike for the suffering of children." For once the solitaires voice didn't seem as cold as normal. Somewhere within that monster was still a spark of something not yet wholly corrupted.

"She saw a chance to appease both master and mistress. It doesn't happen often. So she took it."

Imisha's right hand tightened her grasp on her witchblade, hidden within her cloak. Meanwhile her right hand closed around the destruction rune in her pocket. What they even be of any use if the Solitaire decided that she would be the next sacrifice?

"Is the seer going to kill the dancer? Is that the seer's master would want?" The solitaire stared blankly back at Imisha with normal cold voice. The demon mask wore the face of a stone wall, no an emotion present.

"I have no master! But I can see you serving your 'mistress'. However I fail to see how you prevented any suffering" Imisha growled back. "Explain why that girl and her mother had to die!?"

"The seer should hear herself. Says she has no master. Says she hasn't changed. And here she is up in arms over the death of a human child." The daemon mask sneered.

"All life is sacred. As few as possible should be allowed through the veil before their song has reached it's final verse." Imisha heard herself say. From where she got sentence she had no idea. Still in her heart the words rang true, like a truth long lost. From a time long lost when the Eldar still had the chance to become something more than they were today. In the warp the bonfires of hope blazed and roared in the budding spirits of her children. The Solitaire just looked at her, the sneer now gone and replaced with what Imisha later concluded must have been...envy.

"Does the seer know that dancers in her role are not allowed to speak outside of the dance?"

Imisha nodded confused and somewhat annoyed at the change of topic.

"Her very speech is cursed. So is her touch. All she comes into contact with is damned." She looked meaningfully at Imisha.

"Great. Just great. Are you telling me I am damned?"

"She knows damnation. She is damned. The seer is not."

"Then what am I?" Imisha did not conceal her irritation.

"Blessed. So blessed that even one such as she is allowed to speak...and touch." The Solitaires hand reached up and tentatively touched Imisha cheek. It was the lightest touch Imisha had ever felt upon her skin.

At that point the ship shook violently and alarms started bleating in distress.

"They have come. We have reached our destination." The solitaire simply stated and lowered her hand, totally unphased by the calamity erupting all around her. Instead she calmly jumped down again and started dragging the thug corpses towards the door. There she proceeded to butcher them. Blood splashed over the already soaked harlequin.

Choosing to ignore the disturbing sight for more pressing concerns Imisha rushed to the nearest viewport. A ship rushed by so closely it almost scratched up against the transport they were travelling on. It looked like a black flower made out of knives, each edge covered with clotted red blood. When the ship rushed past an oily shadow trailed it, obscuring it from behind. It was almost like a hallucination field. Except. Oh no. Imisha squeezed up against the bulkhead and pressed her face up against the window. Further down there ship another bladed flower had attached itself to their transport like a vicious tick, burrowing it head deep into the transport. They were being boarded. And she knew by whom.

"This is why the child and the mother had to die. The father of her son is here. And her master would grieve if she let them be taken by him alive. Death was the only mercy she could offer. And she didn't want their last memories to be of rape." Kalitha explained quietly. She positioned herself in front of the main door to the cargo hold, her legs spread wide and her arms and fingers stretched out. Blood was dripping from her long slender limbs onto the floor. Around her aligned in a perfect star were the bloody remains of the thugs. Heads and guts and bone all lines up according to some insane logic. And in the middle the solitaire, like a statue, the centerpiece of the perverse piece of art. From within the bowels of the the sounds of screaming and gunfire echoed.

Imisha nodded towards the disemboweled thugs. "What about them?"

"They are the gift. As is she. She has made herself pretty. Let's hope he likes it."

"Are you insane? This was your plan?" Imisha drew her witchblade and opened the gate within her wide. Azure lightning streaked across the floor around her. She would not go down without a fight. The solitaire's head snapped around and stared her down.

"It was the only way. Her son disappeared along with the princess. Now he has resurfaced alongside his father. So we go to meet the father. It is the only path forward. Winning this fight means losing the future. The seer knows this." The solitaire turned back to again stand as if transfixed. The sounds of fighting were getting closer.

"Wait just a minute! Are you telling me you have a child with one of the dark ones?" Imisha blurted out loud not thinking about her own situation.

"There was a time before she became a dancer." Kalitha's voice sounded different. Sad. And a lot younger. The harlequin shook her head to chase whatever she was feeling away and returned to her role. It was showtime.

The sound of agile feet running was just on the other side of the cargo door separating their room from the rest of the ship. Imisha could tell from the subtle ethereal resonance they were Eldar feet. The dark brethren were upon them.


	11. Hooked on a feeling

The doors to the cargo room swung open and a single man entered. Out in the hallway other figures could be seen lurking in the shadows. But the occasional jagged piece of armor or piece of shining hard metal was all that gave away their existence. Imisha could just about make out the shapes of raised guns and gleaming blades in the darkness. Despite Kalitha's assurances she gripped her witchblade tighter.

The dark eldar archon was not as she had imagined. She had imagined a large brutish man with a hard face. Armorclad in jagged spikes and armed to the teethy with cruel weapons. Instead the dark eldar archon was short, just above Imisha's own small stature and quite a bit shorter than Kalitha. And in place of armor he was dressed in a snug black tightly fitting robe in some glittering material. He wore no distinguishable jewelry or any kind of other adornments. His haircut was short and practical. All in all he looked more like an athlete than a warrior.

When he first laid eyes on Kalitha a river of sparks flew between the Solitaire and the newcomer in the warp. Like two parts of an apparatus connecting and humming back to life. The sudden spike or raw emotions made Imisha blush furiously. Her entire life she had been taught to bottle up what was inside her. She still had problems telling even those closest to her how the felt. She had been taught that emotions was the most private thing and displaying them in public akin to walking around stark naked. To be privy to such a blatant display of raw lust and desire up close felt like committing the ultimate taboo.

She wondered if the same thing had happened when she had met Davar in his tent that time. That made her blush even deeper. Anyone with the slightest warp sight would have been able to sense it. Like the human. And perhaps even the accursed princess.

As the man approach Kalitha his demeanor became a slightly amused, like the face of someone who had been bored for a long time and unexpectedly stumbled onto something interesting. Kalitha stood dead still in the center of her grotesque artwork. The dark eldar archon rounded her in a circle, as if inspecting the scene. When he had reached full circle he finally spoke. His voice was high, a trembling tenor. Almost higher than Kalitha's deep alto.

"Mundane. Boring. Uninspired. Just like you." Kalitha still didn't move. The dark eldar archon positioned himself straight in front of her. He shook his head and tut-tutted in disappointment.

"It seems that all that once made you special is long gone. Certainly what is left before me is nothing but an aging blown out candle. The world has chewed you up and spat you back out. And you think that I would be interested in the leftovers?" He looked around trying to fix her eyes with his his own. But Kalitha just kept looking straight ahead as if gazing at something at great distance. Unable to make eye contact he instead made a dismissive gesture at the bloody carnage around her.

"That you would debase yourself with such a pathetic display." He casually kicked away a ribcage from the star of flesh and bone, breaking the perfect formation. He kicked another piece apart, gauged the still solitaires reaction. Somehow the display looked even more monstrous now.

"It makes me question if there was ever anything special about you. Or if I must forever be ashamed that I allowed you to be the vessel for my seed." Kalitha simply refused to even so much as acknowledge the dark eldar presence.

"Do you have nothing to say in your own defence? Anything at all?" Yet again Kalitha remained dead still. Her old lover sighed theatrically and shrugged his shoulders. "No? Then I guess all that is left is for me to put you out of your misery". The archon snapped his fingers and a jet black rod came flying from the opening, apparently thrown by one of his followers. He caught it with ease and gave it a twirl. Imisha swallowed. She had seen one of those rods before.

"Do you know what this is?" He asked Kalitha, caressing the short black rod as he strode behind her. Not looking at Imisha he pointed a finger towards her.

"You there. Craftworlder. You seem like you know your history. Care to enlighten this little useless washed up bitch as to what awaits her?"

"Kalitha! That is a warp whip! You have to..." But the archon interrupted her with his high pitched calm voice.

"Very good, little seer." The archon asked in a sweet voice while flexing his arms and shoulders. He leaned in just behind Kalitha as if to whisper in her ear. Imisha could just barely make out his words over the pounding of the ship's machinery. Somehow she guessed he meant for her to hear them.

"Do you know what it does? It is like a normal whip in many ways. But instead of rending and flaying the body it lashes at the soul. I wonder if we can make you special again if we just beat you hard enough. What do you say? Together?" At his words Kalithas body shuddered in what looked like an involuntary reaction. Imisha felt so sorry for her, it seemed that even a solitaire could feel fear. The archon however smiled without a trace of pity, strode back a couple of steps and raised his whip. Before Imisha could act he whipped it forwards towards the still standing Solitaire. Through her warp sight Imisha could see the barbed whip rushing forward and striking Kalitha head on. The whip bit deep into her soul, ripping up a large gash. Her light wavered and flickered in pain as it tried to recover from the blow. He struck again. And again. And again. Kalitha's soul lit up like a bonfire of pain. But in the material plane her body stood perfectly still.

Imisha drew her witchblade fully and jumped down from the crate the sat perched on top of. She was not about to let this continue. From the doorway she could see the shadows moving and weapon barrels aligning themselves against her. They didn't scare her in the slightest. If she flicked her fingers she would become the center of a storm such as these cretins had never seen. Her witchblade was pointed straight at the archon.

"Stop! If you hurt her again by Isha I will fry you and skewer you on my sword like a barbecued rat" Imisha had seen refugees catching rats and cooking them over open fires on sticks. It wasn't perhaps the most threatening metaphor but it was the one that came to her mind.

The archon stopped, threw his head back and laughed a high pitched ringing laugh. He dropped the whip and strode up to Imisha. The tip of her witchblade met his neck and he pushed the tip slightly into his flesh. A single drop of blood ran down his neck.

"Sad little craftworlder", he said mockingly. "How little you know". Then he walked back towards Kalitha, picking up the whip again from the bloodsmeared floor. He positioned himself behind her and positioned the handle of the warp whip under her chin, forcing it upwards. Imisha started picking targets. And she knew who would die first.

"What do you say my dear? Am I hurting you?"

At this point Kalitha moved and turned her head over her shoulder towards the archon. Her voice was perfectly clear. The daemon mask wore a face of mock pity.

"Oh! She didn't notice the small man with his small words and small toys. She mistook it for the wailing of children. But as she remember everything about him is so miniscule that she usually fails to notice. The dancer apologizes most profoundly. Was there something the little man wanted besides whining like a babe?"

The archon sucked in breath and his eyes lit up as he seemed to savour the humiliation. For a moment he just stood there, right behind Kalitha. Then he whipped Kalitha around and the two embraced in a blaze of passion. The solitaire wrapped her bloodsoaked naked legs around him and leaned in deeper as he lifted her off the ground. Imisha turned ash white in the face at the things the two started to do to each other. The hand holding her witchblade fell in awe as she gaped at the lovers like a simple minded fool. In the shadowy doorway the dark eldar raiding party was retreating.

"The seer might want to go with the others. Or she can stay and watch. She might learn a thing or two. Her call." Kalitha managed between the moans and gasps. Imisha shielded her eyes with her hand and ran out the doorway. But she could not shield her warp sight from the fiery joining of souls happening just behind her.

* * *

In the end the dark brethren allowed Imisha and Kalitha to travel back with them to their base of operations. Apparently they had met their quota of souls and slaves and were about to head back anyway. It was a journey so horrible that Imisha several times wished she was back among the human refugees. The dark eldar hated her with a passion. Not a craftworlder but as a seer. She was quite sure that Kalitha was the only thing stopping them from taking her apart piece by piece. Even with the phycosuppressants drugs they had forced her to take she could not shut out the suffering all around her. The blackened souls of her lost brethren, slowly draining away into the giant vortex that was She Who Thirsts. The desperate misery of the captives stowed away deep within the bowels of the raider's ships. They were heading to fate worse than death. Imisha clearly remembered the heads of the human female and her child rolling on the floor. How many more children had not had been so fortunate as to have someone kill them before they were taken? Several times Imisha had to stop herself from simply gripping her witchblade and going out in a blaze of glory to free them. Perhaps the harlequin had been right. Perhaps she had changed. Because this was quickly becoming unbearable for her. Ultimately she spend the voyage shut in a small room, alone with her thoughts.

Finally after what seemed like many hours the door opened and Kalitha walked in. Imisha gagged on the smell of fresh blood and sex as the solitaire entered the room.

"We have arrived. And we have been allowed to meet with her son." Kalitha simply said. The harlequin hesitated for a while. "But she must warn the seer. This will probably not be easy for she must leave her weapons here." She walked out the door and Imisha followed. How much worse could it get? The sooner she got this over with the sooner she could get out of this living hell.

Outside her tiny quarters the dark eldar archon joined them. He elegantly offered his arm to Kalitha who eagerly accepted it. And so the three of them walked through the dark corridors of the dark eldar base. Archon, solitaire and farseer. Seeing the couple in front of her made her jealous. Twisted as they were they at least had each other. If only Davar had been here aswell Imisha thought bitterly. Then all of the eldar peoples would have been represented. The thought bit deep. By Khaine she needed him right now. But he wasn't at her side. And he probably would never be again. These constant thoughts of regret and longing did her no good. She had to get over him once and for all.

Imisha walked pass screams and laughter. Sometimes is was hard to tell them apart. She tried not to look. In the end she just looked at her feet and tried her best to shut it all out. Once in awhile she closed her eyes and tried to image the grass on the verdant moon under her feet instead. Thus she didn't even notice when they reached their destination. But finally the couple in front of her stopped.

"Behold! Our son!" The archon exclaimed proudly.

Imisha raised her eyes off the floor. There stood in a round chamber with slick metal walls. It was dimly lit as if in a state of perpetual twilight. The floor was covered with metal gratings. They were quite alone. All was quiet except for a slight whimpering sound that she could not locate. For a split second terror overtook her. Was this were her life would end? Had she been betrayed? But then she saw the over two looking upwards and raised her own head.

High above them, hanging from the ceiling, suspended on a hundred wires hung a naked screaming eldar. Each wire ended in several barbed hooks that were embedded into his flesh. The wires constantly twisted and turned, pulling at the open wounds. Imisha could find no words.

Kalitha stood transfixed in front of Imisha. The seer looked incredulously at the Solitaire. Why didn't she do something? Well if she wouldn't Imisha sure as hell would. Finally Imisha snapped.

"You monster!" she howled and lunged for the archon, catching him off guard from behind.

"Your own son! Your flesh and blood! How can you do this?" Imisha spat at the archon. She grabbed the man by the collar and lifted him off the floor. He didn't resist, instead staring back at her with disdain. They may have taken her witchblade and her warp powers but Imisha was never without weapons. Her fingers itched to close around his throat.

"Your ways are not our ways," the archon simply reminded her. "I honor his determination and his choice". From behind Kalitha gently put her hand on Imisha shoulder. If it was a threat and meant to calm her Imisha couldn't determine. Regaining control she threw the dark eldar down and stepped back in disgust. He landed on his feet like a cat and adjusted his clothing.

"My son is trying is to purify himself through pain. It is an ancient ritual. Older than the world in which you were born, craftworlder."

"Do you even know why he is doing this to himself?" Imisha demanded.

The archon nodded solemnly. "He spoke of his daughter and his wife. He says he killed them both. He wanted to end his life and forever damn his soul. I convinced him that this was a better alternative."

Above them the poor soul screamed in pain as the hooked wires grew more and more taunt again. Small automated probes soared in the repair the gashes in the flesh that opened up. Tubes of blood and nourishment rushed in to strengthen him.

"Take him down now this instant!" Imisha demanded.

"No" It was Kalitha who responded.

"That is your son up there!" the farseer continued. "Doesn't that make you feel anything?"

"It does" Kalitha responded. "She is glad her son is safe for now." She took the archon's hand in her own and squeezed it affectionately.

"Whh...what?" Imisha shook her head and threw out her arms in shock.

"The mistress has marked her son as her own. He belongs to her now, just as she does. But he has no master to protect him. Right now the pain is all that keeps them apart. So if pain in the body keeps the spirit intact she finds that a small price to pay. If we take him down she might very well lose him forever."

"How can you be so sure?" Imisha blurted out.

The solitaires daemon mask raised a painted eyebrow. Oh yeah, right.

"You can't possibly tell me you approve of this?!"

"And would the seer prefer the alternative?! That he just let go. Just like the seer wanted to do when the dancer found her? This is the way of his people."

"His people?"

The daemon mask smiled in what looked like a sincere if somewhat tired smile.

"The seer still doesn't understand, does she?"

Imisha frowned. Kalitha used that voice again. That young voice. That actually sounded like there was someone behind that mask.

"The seer think that the dancer endures this life. She doesn't. She _likes_ it. She _craves_ it. The blood. The sin. The pain. So how can she fault her son for wanting the same?"

Imisha just gaped in response. Not knowing what to say. Kalitha smiled at her apparent confusion. Or at least her mask did.

"She told the seer that there was a time before she became a dancer. These were her people. This was her home."

"She knows it is an extreme. She knows it is not in harmony. But it is who she is. That is why she became a dancer in the first place. She needs both master and mistress to find balance."

"Do not pity her. She would be damned either way. At least as a dancer she can do some good. And do not pity her son. She is proud of him. Instead make sure that there is still hope for him. Find the princess."

"Just exactly how am I to do that?" Imisha threw her hands in the air. "This was a dead end! I just wasted weeks on this wild goose chase!"

The archon snapped his fingers and an acolyte rushed forwards carrying a box.

"Kalitha tells me you are looking for one of my son's companions. I assure you he never spoke of anyone except his wife and daughter. However, these were the things my son had on him when we found him. Does any of them tell you anything?"

Imisha rummaged through the box. A dirty dress. A broken doll. Ranger gear.

"Nothing" Imisha felt weak. She wanted to sink to her knees. The screaming eldar above her surely didn't help the mood. Then she saw it.

"Wait!" In the corner of the box lay a small worn book. The title caught her eye. _Da lusty orcish maiden and her virile stablemasta_. Surely it couldn't be? But then again, wouldn't it be just like her.

"Has the seer found something?" Kalitha wondered. Imisha picked up the book.

"I...I think this book might have been the princesses. She said it was her favorite. I think..." She sighed and shook her head in embarrassment.. "I think she named one of our battleships after it." The archon looked over at the book's cover and just barely suppressed a laugh. Imisha glared at him.

She opened the book. It was apparently signed by the author. Imisha squinted at the crude writing and could just about make out. _To da little funny pointy one. Muffmasher Megamember._ The little funny pointy one. It had to be her.

"Are you sure your son mention anyone else besides his family that he was in contact with?" Imisha tried passing the book to Kalitha for further inspection.

"None" the archon answered gravely. But at the same time he looked at Kalitha.

"This is where the seer and the dancer must part ways. She already has two masters. She can ill afford a third." Kalitha said at last. She lined up her masked face with Imisha's own.

"Listen carefully. Her son says that he killed the princess. She very much doubts that. This is likely her mistresses doing. That is why the dancer can't go with the seer. She can no longer be trusted."

"But if the princess is gone..." Imisha started in panic, visions of fire filling her mind.

"She isn't. Her master has told me that when she dies the children will go with her. We are still here. So she is still out there somewhere. The seer must carry back to her the torch that she seems to have dropped." Kalitha thrust the back into Imisha's hands. In her mind the golden thread of hope grew stronger. Kalitha turned back to her screeching son, hanging high above them.

"The dancer will stay here and try to convince her son that his daughter still lives. Perhaps then he will come back to his senses. Perhaps he can yet be stolen away from her mistress."

"Wait!? His daughter?! Are you telling me..."

"Her son considers the princess to be his daughter yes." Beside Kalitha the dark eldar archon drew a sharp breath at this statement.

"But that doesn't make sense! She is an exodite princess! Surely.." Kalitha placed a finger on Imisha's lips, silencing her.

"The princess is many things. It is not the dancer's place to explain. The seer should ask her master herself. And when she does tell her the princess that if she is to be rule over what is left of the children of the stars she must accept us for all that we are. Not just the elegant, pure and polished parts. But also the hungry, wicked and spicy parts." The solitaire smiled at her lover and then bent down to kiss Imisha hand with a impish grin on her mask.

"For it takes two halves to make a whole." With that the Solitaire smacked playfully Imisha on her bottom and turned around towards her family. The farseer watched as the solitaire again took her lover's hand and the two of the watched their only child together as he continued to scream and flail high above them. Imisha turned to walk away.

"Kalitha?"

"Yes?"

"What is your son's name?"

"Tiohja. It means little singer in the old tongue."

Imisha nodded and left rather than to intrude further on the private and frankly rather disturbing moment. To her great surprise the dark brethren let her leave unscathed. Once on her way she looked at the book in her hand. It was her only lead forward. The absurdity of all it all was breathtaking. But despite everything Imisha soon once again found herself in the right place at the right time.

Hope, it seemed, even in this dark and twisted galaxy, simply refused to flicker out and die. Tooth for nail, it would not go down without a fight.


	12. The quest for orcish porn

Finally inside her tiny room again Imisha coughed heavily and removed her protective mask. She spat black phlegm into the waste disposal and took a sip of her daily ration of the disgusting recycled water. Grimacing she forced it down. No use complaining. It might taste like sewer slime but it kept her and her children alive. That and the equally gruesome protein bars. Imisha didn't dare to spend too much money in case it would raise suspicion. The destitute refugee she was posing as could hardly afford to pay for a clean bed and tasty food.

Her small room was right next to the main ventilation system. The constant clanking and whooshing made sure she had not slept a full night in almost a week. Three times malfunctions had caused her room to fill up with stream. The entire thing smelled of oil, rust and grime. Actually 'room' was a bit of an overstatement. It was more like a mattress thrown on top of some rusty machinery in with a flimsy door to section it off. Any time someone walked by outside you could hear it so well that Imisha had made a game of trying to judge the size of their feet.

This place was a dump. Quite literally. Eambar was a garbage planet. A free zone where anyone could dump anything. And they did. Toxic sludge, spent radioactive fuel, unstable weapons. Sometimes whole spaceships. Perhaps once a long time ago this planet had been habitable. Now it was a wonder anything could survive in this place. The entire surface was covered with garbage. The only places where anything wearing less than a space suit could survive were the salving stations Imisha had spent the last few weeks touring in search of her elusive prey.

Most of salvaging stations she had visited turned out to be little more little more than warrens of maintenance tunnels and makeshift living quarters. The current station was almost a shining gem in this place. At least it had proper avenues and streets under the protective dome that shielded it from the deadly outside.

Even in these "clean zones" she had to wear her a breathing mask at all times just to survive. The thick oily air clung to her delicate skin causing her whole body to itch and erupt in angry hives. Her hair was now a lost cause and she feared she would have to shave it all off once she left this place. Clean water was a premium and showers were apparently unheard of. The best thing her current hotel could offer was wet wipes. And even those cost a small fortune. But that was one luxury she had decided she could not live without.

There was an upside though. As long as she kept her head down Imisha didn't have to worry about sticking out here. No one stuck out here. No one asked any questions what so ever as long as you could pay your keep. Even so Imisha kept her refugee cloak on just to be safe. It also helped conceal the fact that her stomach had started to swell. But she had yet to see anyone so much as raise an eyebrow at the prospect of a pregnant eldar refugee.

Although gretchins and humans were most numerous she had seen just about every race in the galaxy in her short stay. There were already plenty of eldar here. Rangers, exodites, pirates. Imisha had even caught sight of the multi colored cloak of a harlequin at a transit station a few days ago. She could have swore the dancers mask had smiled ever so slightly for the instance she had caught his eye. And that his head had tilted in the smallest of bows. But in the next second he was gone in the crowd.

Even so there was strange harmony to the planet. Over the time Imisha had spent here she had seen very little open violence. She could imagine that there was lots of violence behind the scenes when the dumpster diving teams fought each other for the right to the best salvaging locations. But such things seemed to be kept mostly out of the public eye. Overall this place was safer than many places she had visited.

Maybe it was because out here everyone needed each other just to survive. Or maybe it was because a bolter shell to the wrong piece of garbage might just blow up the planet.

Today had been another dead end. After wiping down her body and discarding the used stinking brown wet wipes Imisha reviewed her notes. Finding the orcish writer was like looking for a needle in a haystack. When she at first had narrowed down his position to this world she had thought tracking him down would be a rather easy task. How many orcish smut novelists could there be in a place like this? As it turned out quite a few. Except for salvaging Eambar was also the center for orcish pornographic production in the entire sector. Why anyone would choose a toxic dump like this to produce adult content was beyond her wildest dreams. But actors, writers and filmers all seemed to pilgrimage here. Imisha has spent almost a month fine combing shady massage parlours, dirty film studios and dubious bookshops for the accursed orc. She had seen, heard and smelled things she previously could not have even have imagined. Now she was terrified she would never be able to get the memories out of her head again. If only the hotel sold wet wipes for the mind.

The farseer buried her face into the stone hard pillow on her bed. Orcish porn and toxic garbage. One would think that things could hardly get any worse. But truth was she had saved the worst for last hoping it would not be needed. But now she was out of options. There was only one place left to search. Imisha shuddered at the thought.

 _Naught but Naughty_ was sort of an academy, although hardly what imisha would call a place of learning. It was instead a place where the various adult entertainment professions could learn their craft. Everything from writing, to dancing, to...acting. Around here the place was highly respected and one of the reasons why people travelled far and wide to this place. It was the place for the kind of behind the scenes information she so desperately craved.

The one problem was she would never get into such a place posing as a refugee. The academy had no shows, no shops, all in all very little interaction with the consumers. And what Imisha wanted to know was the kind of things whispered in dressing rooms and on smoking breaks, not announced out loud. To access this place she would need to change her strategy.

Reluctantly Imisha started unpacking the cheap vulgar piece of clothing she had purchased before coming back to her room. There was but one way she could think of to get in while maintaining any form of secrecy. Although she could read and write the human speech Imisha had never been great with words, she had much preferred runes. What they called 'acting' was a line she was not willing to cross. But she shortly danced when she was younger and had grown rather fond of it. Dancing and combat training went hand in hand and all Eldar warriors learned a little dancing as a part of their training. Although her training had most certainly not prepared her for something like this. But combined with her natural grace as an Eldar it might be enough to get her through the door. Her own revulsion at the entire thing would fit right in with that of a destitute refugee willing to sell her dignity for money. It could actually work.

A high farseer and former craftworld fleet commander posing as an exotic dancer. Imisha couldn't help but to smile at the absurdity of it all. Kalitha would no doubt be proud of her. Varunastra would probably lose his mind. Both thoughts helped her to steel herself for the coming task.

Critically studying herself in her small mirror she started to apply her makeup. At this point she knew pretty well how she was supposed to look. Her nimble finger easily replicated crude look she had seen on other prospective actresses. Not that Imisha was that young. But being an eldar her age didn't show much. There. That would do just fine. Only one things really set her apart. She sucked in the slight bulge on her midriff as much as she could.

That is when she felt it for the first time. To begin with she thought her stomach was just reacting to all the crappy food she had forced into herself. But the second time she realized what it really was. Her babies were kicking her. They were not at all happy with the sudden constriction of space. Amazed she let out her breath and placed her hand where she had felt the kick. The tiniest of punts propagated from inside her flesh into the flat of her palm. For a split second Imisha lost her cool and wondered what in the name of Khaine she was doing. Then the image of the mangled exodite princess and the certain doom of the life inside her washed over like a bucket of cold water. The golden thread of fate was still present in her mind, calling her onwards. She was still on the right path. And everything she did was for the little ones growing inside her. And there was nothing she would not do for them.

"I am sorry" she whispered out loud and caressed her belly. "It's going to be a little cramped for a while. Mommy has to..." Imisha could hardly form the words. But if she couldn't even form the words how could she expect to go through with it?

"Mommy has to go learn how to dance for orcs"

* * *

Later that same evening Imisha found herself banging on a cold metal door leading to the back entrance to the academy. This was the time and place she had been told that the auditions to _Naught but Naughty_ were taking place. At first there was nothing and Imisha feared that her money had been down the drain. But after a while she could hear the slow shuffling of feet towards the door. A tiny metal slit opened and two beady red eyes peered down at her.

"What yer want?" asked a rough green skinned voice through the slit. Imisha was shivering in her refugee cloak. A filthy brown rain was pouring down. Orcs! Imisha muttered in her mind. How bad do you have to screw up the environment controls to make it rain indoors when water is as rare as it was around here?

"I..." she started timidly and looked at her feet. It was one thing to make the plan and quite another to go through with it.

"Bah! I haz no times for yer!" The slit started to close.

Imisha could think of only one thing to do. Blushing heavily she opened her robe under which she was wearing only the ridiculous dancing outfit she had aquired earlier. The slit stopped closing. The red eyes scanned her critically from head to toe.

"Yer ain't got nutting I aint seenz before" the orc said in a laconic voice.

"Excuse me!?" Imisha didn't have to fake her outrage or indignation. Not that Imisha had ever been considered a beauty among her own people. But he was an orc for Ishas sake! To him she was supposed to be a goddess.

"Yer heard me." The slot slowly continued to close but the orc's eyes were twinkling curiously.

"I can dance!" Imisha stammered in genuine desperation. There was now only the tiniest sliver left of the door slit. A single red eye still gleamed at her.

"Showz me" the orc said at last.

At this point Imisha realized she probably should have practiced before coming here. She could hardly do one of the warrior stance dances. Nor one of the religious dances she had learned as a farseer. Growing desperate Imisha at last tried to mimic what she had seen at the various clubs. How hard could this crude dance be? They just kind of waved their arms and legs and...

"Yer look like someonez put a stick up yer buttz and yerz tryingz to yank it out." the orc chuckled in amusement and shook his head.

"And yer got too much in the cellar and not enough in the attic. Go home, little pointy ear!" The lone amused eye flicked first towards her stomach and then towards her barely covered chest. From somewhere Imisha recognized that look and it infuriated her even more than his words. Before the slit could close Imisha rushed in fast as lightning and stopped it with a lone finger. Pouring her warp strength into her grasp she forced the slit open again and put her face right next to it. Her furious eyes lined up with the doorman's. For a moment Imisha forgot all about her cover as a timid refugee.

"You listen to me, you slime coloured old degenerate! I might not be the greatest dancer. And I might not be the greatest beauty either. But one thing you can be sure of, I _am_ getting through this door!"

Panting in rage Imisha could see the red eyes lighting up behind the door. To her great surprise the door clicked and swung open. Behind it a massive grey haired orc coughed and chuckled heavily. His body was crisscrossed with scars and the battered face was missing both ears. All in all he looked like a typical orc to Imisha. Yet there was something familiar in his eyes she could not put her finger on. Before she could continue her train of thought a heavy clawed hand patted her heartily on the back so hard she almost fell over before ushering her in from the rain.

"Dat be more like it! Lesson noomber one: Yer got to show yer fire! Else is dont'z matters what yer look likes or what yer wearing! Welcomez to _Naught but Naughty_!"


	13. Sharp knife, soft flesh

Anyone who said warfare was hard sure as hell hadn't tried dancing. There wasn't a single muscle in Imisha body that didn't hate her guts with a fiery vengeance. Orcish dancing was unlike anything she had experienced before. If you could even call it dancing. Eldar dance was fluent and graceful, ethereal and light. Sure, she knew what kind of place this was but she had not expected this. She had expected disgusting displays of depravity, lecherous lusty leers and scandalous but seductive steps. Orc erotic dancing as it turned out included none of that.

Instead it consisted of a lots of breaking things, loud roars and stomping. Their 'audition', such as it was, turned out to be more of a wrestling match than a dance display. With her warrior's training Imisha had easily advanced far enough to be admitted for an introductory class in orcish mating dance. Then the real ordeal began.

They were expected to be able to grunt. Imisha's high-pitched Eldar voice had barely managed a sound like that of a dying cat.

They were expected to jump and stomp so hard enough to cause minor earthquake. But no matter how she tried Imisha could not suppress decade of combat training that made her land like cat without so much as a sound.

The only thing she didn't totally fail was at breaking things. But their orcish instructor constantly chided her for her businesslike way of smashing various things to pieces. Apparently her smashes 'haz no feelin'. Not to mention that many moves assumed that the dancer had tusks instead of teeth.

And in between they were expected to weave subtle enticing moves and highlight the natural curves of their body. Meanwhile Imisha was trying desperately to hide the only curve her lean body had to offer.

It goes without saying that she was at the bottom of the class. And that was despite being placed in the 'fragile' group with the other non-orcs. At two separate times had she witness the advanced class of real orc dancers practicing. They were like living wrecking balls of loving. Imisha watched in horror as breasts the size of her own head smashed concrete blocks to dusts and buttchecks weighing more than her whole body thundered into the floor with such force Imisha thought her eardrums would burst. Never in her life had she felt more like she was at the wrong place at the wrong time.

But the problem wasn't really the dancing. She wasn't really here to learn how to dance after all. No the problem was... .talking to people. Imisha had always kept herself to herself even among her own kind, never having much time for socializing. Every conversation and interaction had a clear goal. When that goal had been achieved there was nothing more to it. This had worked out well when she had questioned shopkeepers and bartenders but here it marked her as even more as an outsider. No one had heard of an orc named 'Muffmasher Megamember', as the author of the princess book called himself. Whoever the writer was he sure as hell wasn't famous. Everyone agreed that this was likely a stage name which apparently orcs loved to change as often as the sky shifted color. After than her interaction with the other dancers had been almost non existent.

The concept of smalltalk was even more foreign to her than the orcish mating dances. She would rather be stabbed than sit down and talk nonsense with a bunch of... humans. And opening up even the slightest in front of one of these brutes scared her witless. As such Imisha mostly kept to herself, using her keen hearing to try to pick up as much as possible. But so far, nothing. Every night she went home cursing her own social skills. A week she had wasted at this 'academy' with nothing to show for it. At this point Imisha was seriously considering if she was indeed going insane.

It was after such a session where Imisha had failed horribly at looking sexy while trying to break a brick against her forehead and at the same time thump around like a frenzied warthog in heat that she sat at the edge of the stage, depressed and dripping with sweat. The last person in the world she wanted to see walked up to her, grinning savagely.

"Is yer enjoyingz orc culturez?" the earless old orc that had greeted her at door grunted.

Imisha snorted in disgust and turned her head the other away.

"Ahh, don't be like datz! I helper yers all get inz! Where iz yer thankz?" he said in what was surely mock offense.

"Yes I remember that, thank you very much. It seems none of the other dancers got the pleasure of an extra private audition in the rain. From the _janitor_ , nonetheless." Imisha said in the crude human tongue, making sure to pour as much acid as she possibly could into in her voice.

"Yer very welcome. I oftenz givez advices to them less talented" the old orc smiled broadly in response, showing a mouth full of rotting teeth.

Imisha eyes narrowed.

"If yer need morez advice, yer can comez over to my place fer a private lesson" he winked his bushy grey eyebrows at her. Imisha's jaw fell open.

Was the old troll actually flirting with her? Imisha simply didn't know what to respond. For a second she studied the orc. There was something so familiar about his face. But surely she had not encountered any earless orc janitors before? The old orc threw back his head and roared with laughter, apparently very pleased with himself. He turned his head to the other girls, sitting on the other side of the stage.

"I want yer allz to take good carez of my gurl herez! Her gloomiez is notz goods for ourz image!" he roared to them. Imisha blushed heavily. The other girls laughed at the janitor who picked up and walked away. But not after giving Imisha another wink. From where did she know him?

After he left an awkward silence filled the practice room.

"Soooo...you're an Eldar?" a girl with long dark hair tried at last. She had a pleasant smile and powerful long limbs. For a human she was quite graceful.

Imisha really wanted to glare and add a sarcastic remark. But for once she controlled herself and simply nodded.

"You know, I heard it was actually one your kin who came up with the name for this place" the girl continue. A sensation like ice ran down Imisha's spine. The golden thread of fate burned like a falling star in her mind. But could she trust it or was it just what she wanted to hear?

"One of my kin?"

"Yeah my sister told me of this cheeky little girl working as a stagehand here in her time. Apparently she came up with the name! I think she said she was an Eldar. Imagine that!" The human misinterpreted Imisha startled face but still continued. " No offense but your kind isn't really known for their sense of humour! It was around the same time this place cleaned up it's act. Apparently it used to be really bad here, it was little more than a brothel. But then all of a sudden the pimps just disappeared and this place became _Naught but Naughty - Academy for the erotic arts_ '" The girls laughed together and started passing around cigarettes among the other girls.

"A...a little girl?" Imisha tried to keep her voice level but moved a bit closer to the other girls. Her eyes jumped between the girls in desperation. But the rest of the group looked unconvinced, shrugging their shoulders and shaking their head.

"Maybe I remembered it wrong then." The first girl admitted. " It might have been an orc or something like that instead. I was pretty wasted when she told me."

"That does make more sense" one of the other girls chimed in.

"Is your sister still around?" Imisha inquired.

"Nah, she got out. Married one of her johns. Haven't heard from the bitch in over a decade. Left me here to rot. But hey, her name got me a place her so I guess I am not complaining."

Imisha nodded but hung her head all the same.

"You know what? We could go check the old dressing room in the cellar" the dark haired girl suggested. "I think I saw some pictures of the old crew there."

Imisha looked up too quickly, betraying her eagerness. The girl smiled and her eyes twinkled.

"Just let me finish my smoke". For a split second Imisha looked at the rolled up smoking herbs and thought about incinerating it using her powers so they could leave at once. But in the end she decided against it and waited for the embers to slowly burn it's way through the cigarette while the girls continued to chatter mindlessly. But inside she was boiling, at long last there was at least a small chance that she was actually on the right track.

Imisha stormed into the dressing room, unable to contain herself. She didn't even pause to wait for her classmate, not caring or even understanding that she probably acted more than a little deranged. This was her first break since she got to this festering toxic nightmare of a planet. Finally all of her hard work and sacrifices were paying of. She ran from mirror to mirror, going through the photos pinned into the frames with furious speed. Orcs, humans and gretchins grinned back at her from the picture. But no eldar. And certainly no exodite princesses. Imisha spinned around and all but screamed back at the human dancer who had followed her into the room.

"Where is it?! WHERE?!" She started digging through the make up and pieces of clothing under the make up mirrors, sending them flying in all directions. Finding nothing.

"I'm sorry, I really thought...I must have mistaken..." the human dancer stammered, visibly shocked by Imisha strong reaction. Another dead end. Another waste. Imisha smashed her small fists into the dressing drawer. It shook with so much force that her strike would have put a smile on even their brutal dance instructor's face. But Imisha didn't smile. With one final cry of frustration she sank down against the wall. It was just too much.

"Just...just get out...leave me alone..." She stammered as her head sunk into her hands and tore at her hair. Something broke inside her. It had all been for nothing. She had sold her dignity for nothing. Thrown away her position at the craftworld, alienated friends and loved ones. Spent over two months in filth and misery. Put her children at risk. For. Nothing.

The solitaire and her dark eldar lover must be laughing heartily at her. Had it all been a great joke to them? Why in the name of all that was holy had she trusted them over those she called her own? Davar had been right. Varunastra had been right. She was imagining things and it was high time she admitted it to herself. She was crazy. Only one thing left to do now. Crawl back on her knees and beg everyone for forgiveness. Any grace and honor she had once possessed was gone anyway. Time to face the music. Imisha gave up.

"That girl must really be important to you. Were you family?" The human dancer was still there apparently. Imisha shook her head.

"She's the sole reason I came to this noxious hell. The only hope I could find for a future. I followed her trail all the way here from my craftworld. This was my final lead. Now everything is lost." Imisha just didn't care anymore. Just let it all end in fire. Then a single sound brought her back from the brink. The sound of the dressing room door locking. The broken farseer looked up. Her human classmate was grinning strangely.

"In that case." The human didn't sound shocked anymore. Instead she sounded very pleased. "I know why the photo isn't here" Smiling pleasantly she propped up a chair towards the door, barricading it.

"It is because I burned it" the human announced with a vibrant smile. A smile there was something very wrong with.

"My master told me that someday someone would come looking for that girl. Someone desperate to find her. For ages have I waited. The best years of my life I have given to my master standing guard over this place. Since I first saw you I knew you were the one. You hid it well but you don't fit in here. Even for an Eldar. So I placed little bait. And you swallowed it hook line and sinker." The dancer drew a long thin blade from her robe. Imisha shuddered as she saw the blood caked on the blade. She was unarmed, her witchblade safely stored back in her room. The two handed blade was not something you could conceal in a strippers outfit.

"And now I will reap my reward" The human female licked the blade up and down with her unnaturally long tongue. As the tongue touched the blade it split into two, like that of a snake. A thin trail of pink bubbling blood ran down the wicked looking blade. Imisha had spilled enough human blood to know it was red. This was something else. Then she caught the symbol burned into the forked tongue. The mark of Great Enemy.

Instinctively Imisha shielded the life inside her with her hand and mind. She could not help it. That was a mistake. The daemon immediately made the connection. It's eyes lit up like a christmas tree.

"Isn't that precious?" the voice was so sweet it was sickening.

"The little Eldar slut is knocked up." The daemon tilted its head and smiled.

"You know what I will do? I will cut them out of you" The daemon flicked the knife in Imisha's direction at lightning speed. It was just a mock lunge but Imisha jumped like a terrified little mouse. "You will watch as I feast upon them, soul and body, before I drag your tattered remains back to the master. Where all of your kind will end up eventually."

A cascade of emotions flooded over the farseer's face. Anger, terror and determination flashed by in an instant. Then confusion as if she was surprised by herself. Finally she settled on joyous relief.

"Thank you" Imisha whispered at last. "Thank you thank you thank you!" She let out a heavy sigh as if a huge stone had been lifted from her heart. Wiping away a lone tear she laughed out loud in relief. The daemon looked unsure for a moment. Had the ragged Eldar gone mad?

Imisha continued. "Lately I have have felt nothing but doubt and uncertainty. Chasing after ghosts and shadows." The farseer stood up and shook the stiffness for today's lessons from her muscles. Then she met the daemon's gaze head on.

"All my old instincts seemed wrong. This new world didn't make sense to me. I was like a child who knows nothing." Imisha even took out the hairpin holding her hair up. The long locks flowed over her shoulders. She shook them in delight like a little girl.

"My judgement failed me time upon time. All I seemed capable of was making a fool out of myself and hurting the people I love." Imisha played with hair hair and all the sudden she was holding an rune between thumb and ring finger. Now it was her turn to smile. The smile of a predator, all teeth.

The daemon started to open her mouth to retort and fell into crouch, ready to charge. In it's own body it would have been able to match the nimble eldar in speed. But as it was it still only had a human host. To Imisha it seemed like the daemon's tongue and legs were weighed down with lead. She could almost see the lazy neurons behind the red eyes firing in an attempt to push more filth out of his mouth. But this time Imisha found she wasn't willing to listen anymore.

A tidal wave of crackling wrath struck the daemon head on, lifting her clean of the ground. The human puppet body slammed into the barricaded door. Hand raised Imisha advanced, constantly pinning the daemon in place with a torrent of lightning.

"I didn't ask for any of this. I didn't want to open my eyes. I was perfectly content in my old world where things were black and white."

She opened her doorway to the warp wide within herself and poured all her emotions into the storm flooding from her palm. The human cried out in pain. The daemon inside it shriked in frustration and anger.

"I was ready to give up. Ready to throw in the towel and accept my failure. To go quietly into the night."

Imisha was almost at the door. She raised her other palm as well and put everything she had into her spell. The air in the small dressing room smelled of ozone and burning flesh. The light fittings near the mirrors exploded as lightning surged through them. It would have left the room in darkness if not for the flood of sparks emerging from Imisha. The flickering light fell upon two faces. The furious daemon. And the relieved and thankful farseer.

"But then you came. And showed me that I was not mad. That everything I have done is not in vain. You restored my faith. You brought me back into a world where the pieces of the puzzle fit together again. A world where I don't have to worry about right and wrong. A world where I know exactly what I have to do."

At this point Imisha was now almost face to face with the daemon. It's skin and flesh was bubbling and cracking from the searing heat. With a final shriek of frustration the daemon abandoned the body and fled back to the warp. Imisha halted her electrocution, plunging the room into darkness. The broken human puppet fell to the floor like a ragdoll. Holding a single spark in the palm of her hand Imisha shone a light on the carnage.

The dressing room looked like a warzone. Splintered chairs, burned out lights and shredded cloth littered the room. But it was nothing compared to the sad remains of the human at her feet. While no stranger to causing pain and misery what she saw caused her to wonder if she was any better than the daemon she had just exorcised. The human's flesh was a burned out ruin. In some places the sparks had pieced all the way into the bone. In other places the intense heat had caused her clothes to melt into her skin. Hair, eyes and nose were all but scorched away.

"There is nothing I can do for you. I'm sorry." On the outside Imisha showed no emotion and her voice was hard as steel. It was just another human after all. But on the inside she was miserable. The old truth planted inside her had taken root and was sprouting it's branches throughout her soul. Every life was sacred. The human was gasping for breath and sobbing from the pain.

"Please...please...I can't take it..." the burned out eyes was looking up at Imisha, pleading for mercy. Reluctantly Imisha summoned the storm again but the human shrieked in terror at the sound of the first sparks.

"Not that!" the human howled in absolute terror and raised a ruined left hand to shield her face in sheer desperation. "Anything but that!" Pus and blood was bubbling from the corners of her mouth. It was pitiful. Imisha calmed the storm and stepped forward to put the human out of her misery the old fashioned way.

"Thank you" said the broken puppet through charred lips. And with her final breath she plunged the knife still clutched in her right hand into Imisha's stomach.

 _Author's note: Sorry for the long time without updates. As always if you have the time please leave a comment. I am but a novice so every little word, negative and positive, is worth it's weight in gold to me._


	14. Strange allies

A trail of crimson blood led out of the dressing room out into the hallway. Something had dragged itself out from the room and along the floor. Red handprints decorated the floor next to the track. In one place part of a broken nail lay on the concrete.

As the blood grew fresher and brighter the trail followed the corridor in its twists and turns until it came to the stairway. On top of the stairway, next to the locked door lay a broken eldar female. The entire frame was smeared red where her impotent fists had wailed in vain at the cold steel.

Imisha laid flat against the wall. She could not feel her legs. Or her children. She had screamed herself hoarse trying to get her voice to carry through the cellar exit. But to no avail. Now she simply lay there at the top of the stairs, powerless to do anything but to pump her life out onto the floor. She lifted her hand from her stomach and winced as she looked at the jagged wound. The knife has torn a large gash in her side. Had she had her gear she could have at least sealed it. As it was she could only wrap a piece of cloth as hard she could around the gaping hole in her flesh.

With nothing to lose Imisha let out a haunting soundless cry. While the physical world remained silent the warp boiled and shook at her scream. Shockwaves of raw emotion flowed from her like a radio beacon into the warp.

 _I am dying,_ she called _. I am all alone. Please anyone, help. For the love of all that is holy, if not for me then for my children_.

No one answered. No one heard. In her despair Imisha still tried to keep the call tight and focused so that only people in tune with her would catch it. But even so she knew the only ones most likely to answer the call would be predators catching the scent of wounded prey. If a wildebeest weeps upon the savannah only lions will show up to dry the tears.

Perhaps it was for the best that no one came. The already dim cellar staircase started to blur before Imisha's eyes. Bloodloss does that to you. So this is how it ends, Imisha thought.

Why had she not simply fried the cultist? Why had she been so bloody stupid as to walk straight into a trap? If she lived through this Imisha wished she could say she would use this example to never ever show compassion or mercy again. But that wasn't the truth. Truth was she was proud of herself. But why? Why was she so proud that she had dropped her guard, risked and perhaps surrendered her own life in an attempt to lessen the pain of an enemy?

 _Because all life is sacred_ was the only thought that came as darkness descended.

* * *

Imisha awoke to the smell of strong alcohol along with what she later concluded must have been the foulest breath she had even come in contact with.

"I thinkz da knife missed yer babymaker. But it hitz yer spine" The ork made a small pause. "I dontz knowz if yer eva walk againz." The old ork janitor shook his head. "Yer people break so eazy"

"My children are alive?" Imisha mumbled the words between numbs lips. A number of tubes were pumping what she guessed were ork painkillers into her. She was high as a kite. Instinctively she reached out again. Deeply hidden within her were three very scared, very shaken little sparks of life.

"I thinkz so. Did me best. But never patched up no preggo pointy ear beforez." the ork admitted gruffly. Imisha looked down. The wound on her stomach was closed with what looked like metal clamps. It looked horrible. But it felt so much better. Actually Imisha could not remember last time she had felt this good ever. Or perhaps that was the painkillers.

"You have a habit of bringing dancers back to your home?" Imisha slurred before she was overtaken by a coughing fit and clasped her hand to her side.

"Yer as much a dancer az me runny shitz" the ork snorted derisively "I mightz be ork but I ain't noo stoopid."

Imisha giggled furiously at the word 'shit', flashed a radiant smile and then closed her eyes again. Darkness gently carried her away.

* * *

When she awoke again Imisha hurt like hell. From the waist up at least. Below than she could not feel anything. She tried to move her leg. Nothing. Shift her hip. Nothing. Wiggle her toes. Nothing. Well that was it then. End of the road. Either she would die here or manage to get back to craftworld. But in any case this little adventure of hers was now over. What use was a farseer who could not walk? Imisha bitterly thought it would have been better if she would have bled to death in the cellar than live like this.

"I can hearz your self pity all the wayz over herez. I does not suit yer." came a rough voice from across the room. Imisha froze for a second then laid perfectly still, pretending to sleep.

"I knows yer awake" the ork snorted. There was a sound of someone rising from a chair.

Imisha sulked but reluctantly pushed herself up on the pillows so that she could face her rescuer. A giant green earless face loomed into her view. Oh no. Not him. The ork janitor poked and prodded several of the apparatus she was hooked up to. Shamelessly he lifted the homespun wool shirt she was wearing and studied the wound on her stomach. Imisha blushed and looked away.

"Don't worriez. Yer ain't gotz nuffin I ain't seenz beforez." Imisha swallowed her pride and let him continued the examination. She didn't have much choice.

"How is yer feelin?" he asked at last in a businesslike voice.

"Violated. Disfigured!" Imisha spat back rancorously. Then she added in a smaller voice "Crippled."

"We all gotz battlescarz to carry" he pointed towards the stubs where his ears once had been. "I lost these charging a group of monsters" he exclaimed proudly.

"Yer is alive and datz wat matterz. Stop feelingz sorry for yerself and tink aboutz da things inside yer." He poked her belly with a clawed finger. Shocked at the audacity Imisha winced, glared at him and swore loudly. Desperately she dug after the destruction rune she had hidden in her elaborate hairdo. It wasn't there anymore. The ork grinned widely down at her as if reminded of a sweet memory. He chuckled and walked over to the pile of Imisha things stacked surprisingly neatly in the corner. From the pile he pulled a small shining object and started to walk back to her. Just of of reach he stopped.

"Looking for dis?"

"Me be just an ork." The bastard's smiled grew even wider. "But it seemz weird to me that a destitute Eldar dancer goes aroundz carrying seer runes". He twiddled the rune between his claws. Imisha lunged for it but ended up almost falling of the bed. The ork closed his hand around the rune and placed it in his pocket.

"Oh noez. I dontz really fancies becoming a kebab thankz yer very much." He sat down next to her again.

The two scowled at each other. There most certainly was no love lost between their two races. So many questions raced through Imisha's mind. How did this ork recognize an Eldar seer rune? How was it he seemed to know here every thought? And why in the name of Isha did her mangled gut tell her that they were on the same team? At long last she settled on a question slightly less complicated.

"How did you find me?" It wasn't what she wanted to know but it was a start.

The old ork scratched his head. "Yer called for me"

"You heard me?" Imisha asked incredulously. The door to the cellar had looked so thick that she doubted that any sounded had carried through it.

"Not so much heard. All the sudden I just knewz." the ork admitted. "I knewz where yer were and that yer waz hurt. I wentz there and there yer waz." His tone was that of something that made perfect sense. Or as Imisha later found out, like it had happened to him many times before.

There was a lull in the conversation. After a while Imisha asked the question that she really wanted to know the answer to.

"Why did you help me?"

"Yer is tired. Should rest. Yes. Dat be best." The orc start packing up his scary looking tools.

Imisha reached out and placed her hand on the orks arm. It was coarse and rough and hairy and it was apparent she could hardly force him to do anything he didn't want to. Still he didn't pull away.

"Please. Why did you help me?"

The ork sat down on the chair next to the bed. He grunted and set his jaw. Then he started speaking.

"I waz once a painboyz." he stated.

"I fightz in many warz. Followed many warlordz. Killed many. Tortured many. Many orks. Many hoomans." The ork janitor nodded towards Imisha "Many of yer kind".

"I didz thingz that would make yer face even paler. I really liked da painz." The ork swallowed. He looked confused. As if sickened by his own words. His was wringing his hands nervously in his lap. There was a small pause.

"What happened?" Imisha asked breathlessly. But she already knew. Somehow she knew it was the same thing that had happened to her.

"I guess I gotz tired of it all. Killing didn't feelz good no more. Painz started hurtin. Inside." the ork sighed. "I just got dis feelin dat.." The cogs in his head were turning slowly, trying to find the right words.

"...that all life should be sacred" Without thinking Imisha finished his sentence in a barely audible whisper. The small words resonated throughout the the tiny chamber with a force she could not explain.

"YES!" the ork roared and pointed eagerly towards her. "How didz yer know dat?"

Imisha didn't answer. Instead she turned her head away from him. She was frightened that if he looked at her right now he would see straight into her soul. He would see her own failings and fears. See the reason she was lying on this bed in the first place. The ork sat down again and snorted at Imisha's dismissal. An uncomfortable silence fell between them.

Imisha let has gaze wander around the tiny room. It was dirty in more than one sense of the word. Grime and prornography covered the walls. In one end of room was a small desk with papers spread all over. Some of them had been torn to shreds. The metal wall beside it bore the marks of fist pounding it in frustration, all buckled and twisted. Drugged and in pain Imisha had not noticed she was in the right place at the right time. She opened her mouth to ask about the writing desk. The her eyes fell on something that caused her to close it again.

Standing on the mantelpiece was a photo. A photo of an ork and a little eldar girl. The little eldar girl in the photograph stuck at her tongue and made a victory sign with her fingers at Imisha. The ork was grinning and laughing was must have been a booming laugh that could almost be heard. In the picture he still had his ears. All the sudden Imisha saw where she recognized the ork janitor from. Upon seeing Imisha stunned expression the old ork gave a chuckle and walked over to the mantelpiece. He picked up the photo.

"Dat beez me daughta" he exclaimed with pride.

The absurdity of an ork claiming an eldar to be his daughter was not lost upon Imisha. But what was even more absurd was that the two actually looked like each other, as much as an orc and an eldar could be similar. Something about the ears. The girls ears were slightly crooked, just like the ork in the picture. Like they were actually related. The ork seemed to be thinking the same thing as he looked affectionately at the picture, his other hand tracing the stumps where his ears use to be.

Imisha was quickly finding out that this specific girl seemed to be many thing to many different people. Despite all that the difference in race wasn't the most surprising thing about the picture.

"But that can't be..." Imisha stammered. She looked from the picture to the ork. He was much younger in the picture. The picture must be many years old. But the exodite princess looked exactly the same. Eldar do age slowly. But not that slowly. The ork grinned at her bafflement.

"I keptz me good lookz, would yer not say?"

Imisha could not help but to smile. Nothing of it really mattered. She was where she was supposed to be. The golden thread of fate was shining like a sun in her mind. Never again would she doubt her fate. If the use of her legs were the price she had to pay for the future then so be it.

"So you know where she is?" she asked eagerly, trying to prop herself up on the bed. The old ork's smile faded.

"Yer is lookingz for her aintz yer? Datz be why yer came here."

"Yes."

"What is she to yer?" he asked with just a hint of jealously.

"Everything" Imisha breathed without thinking. The old ork nodded as if that was the sole correct answer to his question.

"I don't knowz wherez she is. I ain't seenz her in many yearz. Der waz an...an accident." the ork slumped as he looked at the picture. His clawed hand was gripping the frame very hard.

"An accident?" Imisha breathed, fearing the worst.

"It was an accident! I was not herz fault! It waznt!" the ork suddenly exclaimed violently. He waved his arms and two angry red eyes glowered at Imisha, as if daring her to contradict him. But the farseer was silent and after a while the ork collected himself and sagged down on the floor, the photo still in his hands.

"After datz...she left. Went backz. Begged me to takez her backz."

"Back? Take her back where?"

"Back to wherez I foundz her" the ork said in a quiet voice and looked up. Never before had Imisha seen an ork look so sad before.


	15. The accident

_Many years ago. In the same dressing room where Imisha fought and bled._

Ginad was the man. The best. The alpha male. A grander, finer, more refined man had never walked upon the surface of this planet. At least so he told himself.

This brothel was his castle and he was the king. Everyone else were his servants. When he had a bad day he could beat them. When he was happy he could make fun of them. And when he was horny he could fuck them. Their sole purpose in life was to please him.

That made him all the more angry when they didn't understand that. Lately he had had nothing but trouble. People has started to resist his rule. His hard earned money had been disappearing without trace. But what was worse was that his harlots, the source of his wealth, had also started to disappear.

All of this was making Ginad very cranky. But as luck would have it he had someone to take it out on. He had completely trashed the room around him. Now he wanted to hurt something that lived. Raising his leather belt again he whipped it down with all the force he could muster. It shredded the thin dress of it's intended target, raising red welts on the tender flesh beneath. The whore whimpered and whined. But still she resisted.

"I won't do it! I won't!"

"You will! Or I will cut that thing out of you with my own knife! You hear me, you little shit stain!"

"You wouldn't! I think...I think it's yours..."

"I would. I don't care."

There was stunned silence. When Getrude spoke again she was close to hysteria.

"I'll leave you! Leave this hellhole! I'll..."

"And do what?" Ginad laughed straight in her face.

"You are nothing without me. Nothing! A broken knocked up, used up whore." He spat in her face and was pleased to see her repulse in fear. "You won't last a day out there. I will make sure no one will take you in. So if you want to die, be my guest. Walk out that door!" He rose and elegantly gestured towards the door. Getrude sat still. Sobbing and resigned. Ginad knew he had won. The room went dead quiet.

"Just do as I say and it will all be fine. Ok?" His voice was sickeningly sweet. Getrude nodded numbly.

"That's my girl. I'll leave you here to think it through." Ginad stood up and started walking towards the door. As he reached it he picked up a key.

"Oh, and just because you talked back to me: No food for you today."

"No, please.." she started. But Ginad raised his belt again and she fell silent.

The door slammed shut, locking the lone whore in the small dressing room. She could hear Ginad strolling away down the halls, whistling merrily. Left behind, in almost complete darkness was Gertrud. Her story was a common one. A refugee from a galaxy ablaze with war, seeking any way she could to survive from day to day. It had been both her blessing and her curse that she had once been vibrant, young and beautiful. Once that was. Now the colors in her eyes were washed out, her face was lined and the years were starting to add up. In her case there was no hope for a brighter future. She would live out the rest of her days on this dump and then die, alone and forgotten. These were the thoughts that kept her company as the hours dragged on.

Then, all of a sudden through the darkness she could hear muted voices on the other side of the door. Someone was fumbling with the door with what sounded like a lockpick.

"We should not beez here. Yer get in trouble again" Getrude recognized the voice of the old ork janitor. What was he doing here? She sat still as a mouse, not daring to breathe.

"When have I ever gotten into trouble?" said another high pitched innocent voice in response.

"I won't dignifies datz with an answer. But yer can't just run aroundz rescuing everyonez. He already suspects yer!"

"Bah! Don't be such a baby. He's a human, thus an dimwitted idiot. I'm an Eldar, thus a brilliant genius! Easy as that! Now be quiet, keep watch and let me work. That's all I ask!"

"And if I don'tz?"

"Then I can promise you that I will get into much MUCH more trouble" said the small voice triumphantly. This time with a cheerful challenging undertone. There was a small silence, then an audible resigned sigh. After another moment a triumphant giggle as the lock clicked open. A small shadow slipped into the room and very stealthily closed the door again. In the dim light Getrude could make out the silhouette of a little girl. Her messy mousy hair stood on end in all directions, barely hiding her dirty face. She wore a simple homespun dress and a grin that almost stretched from one pointy ear to the next. Getrude had never seen an Eldar up close before. Smooth as water the girl flowed elegantly between the broken glass and furniture in the room until she was almost face to face with Gertrud. With exquisite grace she took the last step with a elegant playful pirouette. It was beautiful.

Right up to the point where the girl promptly stubbed her toe on the chair Getrude was sitting on. A stream a curses that made even Getrude blush flowed out from the little girl lips as she hopped on one leg massaging her red toe.

"Shhhh" came an aggressive hiss from the other side of the door.

"Who cleans this place?" the little girl swore loudly. "It's a fucking mess!"

"Language!" the ork reminded her harshly. "My guess be that yer waz trying to showz off. I be rightz, no?"

The girl sulked. Then she switched tone of voice, making it smaller and even more childlike. It practically dripped with need for sympathy.

"My toe hurts."

"Serves yer right." came a snort from the other side of the door. "Yer be a klutz and yer to do wellz to remeberz it. Now getz on with it before someonez get here!"

The little girl mumbled something about greenskins, massaged her toe one last time and then looked up a Gertrud. She flashed a smile like a thousand suns and continued like nothing had happened.

"Hi!"

Getrude didn't know what to say. It all seemed bizarre to her. A minute ago she had been sitting alone in the dark crying by herself. And now this. Sensing Gertrud's hesitation the girl dialed back her thousand watt smile a little.

"Are you hungry?" the girl inquired carefully, placing a loaf of bread in Gertrude's hands. When Gertrude didn't move the girl took a small piece of the bread and placed it in her own mouth, promptly chewed it and swallowed.

"See? Food! You eat it!" She gestured with her fingers. Reluctantly Getrude lifted her hands and started eating, her hunger finally overpowering her wariness.

"Good girl!" the girl smiled. The she proceeded to mutter under her breath like Getrude couldn't hear her. "Yeez...humans! You have to explain everything to them."

Getrude swallowed the insult along with the food, used to the abuse. The girl hung on a bit, as if eagerly expecting a witty reply to continue the banter. When instead she was met with dead down stucken eyes the girl hung her head in what must have been shame.

"How can I help you?" she asked almost desperately. It wasn't clear if the was talking to the human or to herself.

"There is nothing anyone can do for me" Getrude uttered wistfully and put a hand on her stomach with a sad smile."I have the whore's curse."

"He wants me to kill it, 'no one will want to fuck a fat swollen walros he says"

"I don't want to kill it. But if I don't he will run me out. I just know I won't survive without him. I am useless." The words just kept spilling out of her. Getrude hadn't realised how much she needed someone to just listen to her.

"You are not useless."

"And what's inside you is not a curse. It's a blessing! And it should be celebrated as such." The little Eldar girl cheekily put her tiny hand on Gertrud's stomach and smiled. The working girl could not help but to smile back. For the first time she felt like being a mother might not be the end of the world. The little girl's eyes lit up in response.

"It's really a blessing?" Getrude stuttered. The girl nodded furiously in response.

"All life should be celebrated. It is sacred." she answered sincerely with conviction.

"Is...is that what your people believe?" Getrude asked carefully.

"My people? Oh you mean the Eldar." She girl looked somewhat sadder for a moment "No. I don't think so. They no longer seem to value life. Perhaps they never did." She looked at her feet. "But I think it is what they were originally meant to." An awkward silence fell upon the scene.

"You really think I can do it?" Getrude at last sobbed shyly at the little girl who nodded furiously.

"I think you can do anything you want. You can be anything you want." It was a child's words, full a naive unshakable faith. But Getrude was an adult, and one that seen her fair share of hard times. She shook her head.

"He is right. I would not last a day out there. I have nowhere to go, no money, no..." She stopped. The girl was holding up a small sack of something. When she shook the sack it clinked suspiciously.

"What is that?" Getrude whispered in horror. But she already know the answer.

"Something I liberated from the safe." the girl exclaimed proudly.

"You are the one who have been stealing from him?" Getrude was aghast. But the little Eldar looked affronted.

"Stealing? I have taken it upon myself to distribute wages. Dad said I should make myself useful and no one else seemed to handling payroll. Everything was just left in the safe. Imagine that!"

"Dat not be what I meant and yer knowz it" the ork janitor hissed from the other side of the door.

"Some parents are happy when their children take initiative!"

"Some parents haz normal kids!"

"I know. Boring right?" The girl beamed at the door. "How blessed you must feel!" Obviously considering the conversation with her 'father' concluded she turned back to Gertrude.

"He is your...father?"

"Yeah, what of it?" the two answered in unison. Getrude opened her mouth but then decided to close it again. The Eldar girl ignored her comment and continued.

"In any case, according to my calculations you are owed quite a bit of back pay. Add on top of that bonuses, vacation pay, retirement funds. It all added up very quickly. I did the math."

"Yer didn't do shitz. Yer just grabbed a bag!" the ork hissed through the door.

"I rounded up!" The Eldar girl snorted back. Then she turned back to Gertrud. There was not so much as a hint of shame in her little face, just pure pride. "I am very good at rounding up. It's the one part of math I really like." She beamed and handed Getrude the sack of money. The human numbly accepted it, staring back incredulously.

"So now all you have to do is..." The little Eldar girl stopped. Getrude was crying and looking upon her with despair. She lifted a sole hand to her mouth as tears fell down from her eyes.

"I am sorry. He told me it was the only way he would let me keep my child. Please understand, I had no choice." Then she lifted a small device hidden inside her hand and pressed a button on it. A deafening alarm rang out through the halls. From beyond the door the old ork was screaming that they had to move. But the Eldar girl just stood still, mouth hanging open, staring into Gertrude's eyes in disbelief. Footsteps and triumphant shouting rushed closer from the surrounding corridors. At last the ork jousted the little girl up upon his shoulders and ran. But it was too late. The trap had sprung.

* * *

"So you are the little cunt who has been stealing for me?" Ginad rushed forward and slammed his fist into the wall next to the girl. She didn't flinch but just smiled smugly back at him like she couldn't care less. In the corner the ork struggled and cursed at him. But his goons had the beast well contained.

"Have not. You are the one who have been stealing from these girls." If naiveness had a voice in the galaxy, this would be it. "You are a thief of dreams. Of hope. Of life. I have simply been returning a small piece of what was stolen."

Ginad backhanded the girl in the face with all his might. The ork roared in rage and rose despite three people holding him down. Two more goons leapt in to contain him. The little girl spat out blood and stared at him with a fury of her own. For an instant a queer jetblack reflection glittered for a moment in her eyes but then faded along with her rage. Ginad felt an ice cold fear grip his spine but pushed it down and continued in a businesslike voice. He had to make an example of this one. Getrude was still quivering in the corner. She and the other's needed to know what happened to those who crossed him.

"This is what is going to happen. You are going to give everything you stole. All the money. All the girls. All of MY possessions."

"Can't." The girl wiped her broken lip and responded with a bloody grin. "Won't."

Ginad lost his patience and grabbed the girl by her cuffs, pinning her against the wall.

"You listen to me you fucking runt. I am the big dog around here. Me. You, you are nothing but a fly shit. I could crush you in an instant. You get that?" The little Eldar girl glared back at him defiantly.

"You are a big dog" she agreed "Big dogs bark a lot. And I am a small dog. You know what small dogs do?" Ginad peered down at her face in bewilderment. She smirked savagely back at him.

"They bite." And before he could react she turned her head and sank her sharp little teeth deep into his hand. Shocked Ginad let go and started to back away of her put she clung to his arm like a leech. The pimp wailed like a little bitch and tried to shake her off but the girl hung on for dear life. Quite literally by the skin of her teeth.

"Get her off! Get her off!" Several of the goons holding down the ork had to rush up to help the fully grown man in his fight against the tiny Eldar girl. Behind them the old ork roared with laughter. In the end they were able to overpower their most fearsome adversary and with combined force threw the little girl to the ground.

Ginad stared in disbelief at his hand. It was mangled and bloody where the girl's teeth had dug into it.

"You bit me you little bitch" he whimpered "I can't believe you bit me". He kicked the prone girl again as hard as he could. She didn't move. Shivering he fumbled for the knife at his belt. Once he had it in his hand he felt better. Safer. But not safe enough. He had been hurt and now other must hurt as well. Oh yes, they would all hurt. Starting with this little Eldar bitch.

"When I first saw you I thought about selling your maidenhood to the highest bidder. But it seems you are doomed to be ugly, small and stunted for the rest of you life!" He paced back and forth in front of her. "Useless!" he screeched and spat down at her. Then he stopped and smiled as it dawned on him. "So I might as well let the knife have it" The knowledge that she would be mutilated for life for what she had done to him filled him with excitement. Licking his lips eagerly Ginad bent down to get started.

A battering ram of green fury hit him head on. The old ork still had one goon desperately hanging on to each of his arms, trying to constrain him. Dragging them behind him like ragdolls he barrelled forward, massive emerald muscles bulging under their impotent grasp. The bull rush knocked Ginad away from the still Eldar girl before more goons rushed in and brought the ork kicking and screaming to the floor. Caring nothing for the blows raining down on him like a hailstorm the ork roared himself hoarse calling out for his daughter. But she just laid there, deathly quiet.

White faced Ginad scrambled to his feet again. Trembling fingers found his comforting knife. Holding it in his hands he became like a baby latching on to a pacifier. The cold steel filled him with a calm and purpose. He as an artist and the knife was his brush. All that was missing was his canvas.

Ginad was boss around here not because he was the strongest, or the fastest. Or the bravest. Like all bullies deep down he was a coward. No, it was because he knew how to hurt people. He knew all their weaknesses. Like which tribe this particular ork janitor came from. And the value and pride they placed on their ears. Their worst form of punishment, reserved for cowards and traitors, was cutting off the ears. Ginad knew these kind of things about every single one of his servants. He made sure he knew their deepest fears. And they all knew, every last one of them, how much he longed to let them come true.

Frothing at the corner of his mouth he started to cut into the orks flesh. The hide was tougher than leather so it was slow work but. The ork never resigned to his fate, straining and struggling against the five people forcing his face into the floor. But despite the mutilation Ginad didn't get a scream or roar, not even a grunt. Somewhat put off by this Ginad took his time sawing off both ears at the root before raising them triumphantly up over his head. Then he threw them to the ground, unbuttoned his breeches and started urinating on the severed pieces of flesh.

"There is your honor, greenskin. Look at it!" he cackled in triumph. After finishing he tried to force the orks face upwards towards the scene but couldn't even move his head a fraction of an inch.

"I said look at it!" Pouting he signaled the guards to do it. It took three of them straining against him to force his head upwards. Red eyes glowered at him. There was no fear in them and that made Ginad feel small. He would have to pluck them out. But a movement at the corner of his vision caught his eye.

"No, dad! Nooo..." the Eldar girl sobbed as she crawled on the floor towards the ork, stretching out a lone hand while clutching the other to her stomach.

Ginad smiled a broad smile, flashing white teeth. He stepped over and and put his boot on the little girl's outstretched hand. When he put his weight on that leg the small bones made a satisfying crunch beneath his boot. Not having considered the Eldar girl a threat he had yet to figure out the her weakness. But now he found she had served it to him on a silver plate. Of course it was the old smelly ork! He sat down next to her, bloody knife still dangling in his hand. Gently he patted her on the head.

"This is all your fault. All of it."

Tears fell quietly from the girl's face as she looked him straight in the eyes. Ginad leaned in closer and put the knife to her throat. He took a bloody ear off from the floor and showed it to her.

"All this pain is because of you and you alone. And now everyone must be punished. You, him, the whore, the filth inside her. I am going to cut you apart slowly in front of each other. I am going to make a pile of your flesh and roll around in it. You are all going to watch eachother die. And remember: It's all your fault."

The little girl's face fell towards the floor. She was shivering in front of him. He entire slender frame was shaking. She was broken in spirit. Now he just had to break her body. But what part should he start with? He wanted to experience this slowly, not rush forward like an inpatient schoolboy. Cut the pretty face? Further break the slender fingers? Slice the tender soles of her feet? Or should he follow through with his original threat? Ginad could not decide. This would not do, he just had to see her bleed. Just a little. So he casually flicked the knife across her throat. But in his eagerness the knife bit a bit too deep. The little girl reflectively grasped at her throat as if she could not believe what had happened. Cold blood dripped through her fingers onto the floor. Her breath gurgled as the liquid poured down into her little lungs. Ginad grabbed her by the hair and looked deep into her eyes, not wanting to miss the moment of death. They were wide with terror and disbelief. Part of him cursed himself that it had been so quick. Yet death was so sweet and exhilarating that in this moment he just could not bring himself to care. Behind him the old ork screamed and roared in despair. It was a moment of perfect beauty.

If he had not been so giddy with glee he would have heard the shouts of the guards and Gertrude's scream. He would have seen the dark smoke unfurling along the ground. He would have felt the smoky tendril snaking it's way up his legs towards his heart. Only when the little girl's dying face turned cold and uncaring did he realise something was wrong. But at that point it was too late for him. Too late for everybody. The last thing her ever saw was two stars of heartless black light kindling in the little girl's eyes.

"Die" she spat quietly back to him.

Hungry thick tentacles of smoke plunged into Ginad from either side. Confused he swatted at them but his hands passed straight through them. Instead they burrowed deeper and deeper into him until they reached his very core. There they latched on and started to drink. Initially the tentacles swelled like snakes trying to swallow a prey that is too large but soon great heavy gulps of all that made Ginad himself passed down the tentacles and straight into the girl. As it entered her the black fire inside her blazed and crackled furiously. Eagerly she devoured everything that made Ginad himself, leaving nothing. When the tentacles finally withdrew they left nothing but a empty dried up husk behind on the floor. Slowly the girl rose to her feet.

Before she could fully stand a bolter salvo from one of the braver guards struck her straight in the chest. The impact sent her flying backwards towards the wall where her tiny body toppled to the floor like a broken doll. For a split second she lay still and the smoke retracted. But then a single slender finger reached into one of the gaping wounds and withdrew a single droplet of bitterly cold blood. Her gaze lifted again and the black stars rose yet again in the room.

" _DIIIEEEEEE"_ the girl screeched in an otherworld voice that clawed into the minds of all who heard it. Grey smoke exploded eagerly in all directions. Unleashed, free to look for any prey it could find without discrimination. The mice in the walls fell as they tried to flee the vortex of death. Pregnant Getrude collapsed soulless on the ground with empty eyes. Her hands clutched around a stomach which no longer held any life. Even the smallest bacteria stopped functioning as the smoke advanced. All around the bordello life simply ceased to exist. Kind hearted people who never hurt a fly in their life had all their mercy and kindness sucked right out of them along with everything else. All swallowed up by the stillborn goddess beyond the veil. It was a taste of the end of all things that lived and breathed.

The goddess took a deep breath, black eyes wide as she gorged on silenced life. All she had to do was let herself die. Leave this horrible dark world of pain and sorrow. Pull all of it with her back down into the grave. She reached down to pick up the knife that had just been used to slit her throat. It was time to end it all. But before she could grasp the handle a green hand sent it clattering across the floor. Unfazed the girl sent a smoky tentacled after it. Slowly the knife was dragged along the floor back towards her.

"Wat is yer doingz? Dis not be yer!" the old ork screamed up at her from the floor. The smoke had so far left him alone but now quickly coiled closer in like ravenous serpents.

"I am going to kill myself. And end everything and everyone. That is my purpose. I am the end of all things." the girl said calmly without emotion and turned her black eyes on him. Misty snakes dug in deep into the old ork. But orks were tougher than other species in both soul and body. And this one was not ready to die just yet.

"Dat be gretchin shitz talk! Yer is my daughter. Yer purpose is to grows up!" he yelled at her as the smoke tugged and tore at his soul.

She smiled sadly at him. "You know that isn't true. Deep down you know I am just deceiving you. Using you. Lying to you. It's all fake. Just like me." The ork snarled back at her, flinging her words aside as if they were flies.

"I am a motherless child. Stillborn, cold as ice. How could I grow up? I am already dead. You were simply unlucky enough to stumble upon my grave." She took a breath as if steeling herself for what was to come.

"The others have surely failed. All light has faded. I will wipe the galaxy clean." The little girl's empty gaze spoke of things witnessed that no child should have been forced to endure. She looked out over the dead bodies.

"There is nothing left worth saving. I am sorry." The ork fell to his knees and his soul started to leave him. Desperately he grasped for breath. He pointed a clawed finger at the dead pimp on the floor.

"Den yer be just like him!"

"Like… him?" the girl looked shocked and the emptiness lifted a little from her face. From deep down the little girl he remembered looked back at him. The ork summoned what life he had left and tried to reach her. He could care less about the rest of the galaxy. Or himself for that matter. In his mind there was only one thing left worth saving.

"Yer is making excuses for hurting others! Yer is taking yer own painz out on demz. Dontz like the galaxy? Den do sumtings aboutz it! My daughter never blamed da others. She helped demz!"

"But everything is already lost. Hope has already been extinguished. There is nothing I can do. It will all end in fire." She shook her head and looked mournful back at him. The tentacle had dragged the knife back to her. She picked it up and positioned it where her heart should be. The girl took another deep breath and closed her eyes. The muscles in her arms tensed.

"Excuses! If der be no hopez den yer must be da hopez!" the ork roared back at her in desperation.

"I cannot be hope. I am but death. I don't bring the light, I take it away." the girl said still with her eyes closed. But it was as if she didn't quite believe her own words. The smokey snakes in the old ork loosened their grip just a little. It was all he needed.

"Dat be yetz anuffer excuse! Yer can..."

"...be anything you want" the girl finished his sentence. Echoing her own words to Getrude just minutes ago. She opened her eyes and looked over to where the human was lying dead on the floor. A single tear ran down her cheek. But the knife was still position right next to her heart.

"Yer don't likez da killings! Yer hatez dem! Rememberz? Yer always be saying dat all...all..." The ork found he could no longer speak. Life was leaving him.

"All life is sacred" the girl whispered almost inaudibly. She looked at him with pity and then looked down at the knife poised over her heart, frowning in bewilderment.

"Even...even mine?"

In that instant the smoke faded and the black suns finally set behind her eyelids. The knife fell to the floor at her feet. For a moment she just stood there, lifeless as a statue. Then she slowly lifted her small shaking hands to her face and looked in despair upon the dead bodies around her. As if she suddenly realised she had ate something horrid she fell to the floor and retched convulsively. Tears and vomit mixed into the carpet. Having found his breath again the earless ork crawled towards her and put his arms around her tiny frame.

"What have I done?" she wailed desperately as he hugged her tight. They sat there together for a long time while the little Eldar girl cried. After a long while the girl spoke again.

"There is this urge inside me" she sobbed almost inaudibly. The ork stayed quiet.

"It's always been there. This...thirst for life. When I close my eyes it calls to me. Tells me that the world is broken. That I need to clean the slate. To end everything. And when I am hurting...I can't control it!" she continued in a small voice.

"I am a daemon. A daemon that feeds on life." she concluded bitterly. But her father was having none of it.

"Yer be no daemon! Demz attacked yer! Yer only defended yerself! Demz had it coming!" The ork janitor mutter passionately through gritted teeth. His daughter looked at the dead hooker lying in the corner.

"And her?" the girl nodded.

"She waz in on it! She tricked yer!"

"She only wanted to protect her unborn child. Did she deserve to die for that? Did her child deserve to die?"

The old ork had no answer for that.

"If it had been my own kin it would have been another matter. They belong with me. But these people were humans. Yet I drank then dry, ripped the life right from their little bodies." The Eldar girl went over to Getrude's corpse and lifted her lifeless hand. Cold dead eyes stared back up at the girl. When she let go of the hand again it fell limply to the floor.

"I abused the divine powers granted to me and used it to murder these people." She looked over again at Gertrud's corpse. "Their lives were sacred. That makes me a daemon."

"Now yer listen here! I refusez to..." the ork started. But his only daughter looked at him in a way she had never looked at him before. At her gaze he found he could not continue.

"I AM a murderer. But I will not be a hypocrite. I WILL seek judgement for my crimes." Her voice was so fierce that no response was possible. But after came the smallest, saddest and loneliest of voices.

"Will you take me? Please? I don't want to go alone."

"I will take yer to da end of da world if yer ask me." the ork said just as fiercely. "On one condition." he added.

"What's that?" the girl answered anxiously.

"Dat yer never ever say dat thing again."

She sighed. "I must own up to my..."

"Not datz! I dontz understandz datz. Da other thing. Dat yer is not my daughterz. Never say datz again."

At his words the girl broke clean in two, her tiny face radiating endless relief and bottomless sadness.

"I promise. I'm so sorry." she sobbed into his jacket.

"Der der" the ork patted her awkwardly on her head.

"I am sorry about your ears." she said with her face mashed into his chest.

"Dem be only earz..." he muttered and fingered the bloody stumps. They were already starting to scab over. Orks healed at a frightening pace. But they would never grow back.

The little Eldar girl sat up and looked the ork straight in the eyes. "You lost them charging a group of monsters. Alone and unarmed. Always remember that." After that her gaze fell again and her voice fell to a whisper that only she could hear. "Even when the memory of me has faded to dust."

"Dat be wat I toldz ya! He waz a monster!

"Just because there are monsters in the world does not give me the right to become one." she chided him. Silence fell between the two as he held her for a while. At last the ork spoke again.

"So where do yer wantz to go?"

"Back to where you found me. I am sure there must be a webway gate there somewhere. From that I can reach him." she whispered. Whether from cold or from fear, the small girl was shivering. The old ork put took off his coat and wrapped it around her.

"Reach whom?" her father asked in concern.

"The one who passes judgement on daemons like me that feed upon the souls of humans."


	16. Kill your darlings

_Many years after the incident on Eambar, around the same time Imisha lost the use of her legs_

Inquisitor Amaron was sitting behind his desk when the space marine scout captain stormed into his office. Word had been sent that he carried a report too important for warp communication. One that had to be delivered in person. A space marine patrol had been sent to investigate a world near the eye of terror where a large Eldar warhost had simply vanished. Ever wary the inquisitor had ordered increased surveillance on the cryptic xenos after he signed the latest truce. Never trust the alien. Trusting the visage on the scout captains face he had been right to mistrust them.

"Report. Where did the Eldar fleet go?" He called up a map of that galaxy on his desk, inviting the captain to highlight the location.

"It is gone sir" the captain stammered.

"You lost it?" The inquisitor was disappointed but not surprised. Tracking eldar fleets was like trying to hunt a fly in a snowstorm.

"No, sir. We found them. They seem to have assaulted a chaos stronghold in that sector. The captain put his armoured finger on a system on the map in front of him.

The inquisitor brought up the details for the system in question. It was much close to the eye of terror than eldar usually ventured. An all out assault on a fortified position deep inside enemy territory was very much unlike their usual tactics. But then again trying to make sense of eldar tactics was a madman's game. To human eyes they were a but a random force in the galaxy.

He threw down the pad and looked up at the captain.

"That's it? An Eldar assault on a chaos world? Why is that so important?"

"Sir. As I said. They are all gone. Both the chaos and eldar forces." The captains was obviously shaken. But by what?

"Calm down and speak plainly brother" Amaron barked harshly at the scout captain. "I understand the eldar and chaos forces had some battle that caused great devastation. While important information I can hardly see how it justifies this urgency. If you feel it warrants further investigation have your chapter send a team to pick up any survivors for interrogation."

"There were none" the captain said eerily. The inquisitor could see the whites of his eyes. There was fear there.

"I find it hard to believe that such a large scale battle would leave no stragglers. Are you sure you looked hard enough, brother?" At this point the inquisitor was getting annoyed.

"Yes." The scout captain's conviction was ironclad. As it should be.

"Explain."

"We scanned the battlefield from orbit. There was nothing left alive. Signs of battle there were plenty. We found tanks still burning, crashed ships and weapons all over the place. But no corpses, no blood. No trace of either traitor, daemon or eldar. All the animals were gone, plants withered and blackened. The entire place is dead. Down to the smallest virus."

The inquisitor rose abruptly from his desk.

"Which side seemed to have emerged victorious?"

The captain remaining silent.

"Brother, you were right to bring this to me. But we need to know which of the sides have this capability! Who won the battle?"

"Sir. As far as we determined both forces were totally annihilated. Warp shadows showed no traces of any ships leaving the system. As far as we can determine they all died there."

Slowly Amaron sat down again, deep in thought. For a moment it seemed like he had forgotten the scout captain in front of him. When he at last spoke he didn't even raise his head.

"Thank you captain. You are excused."

The scout captain bowed and headed towards the door. But in the opening he stopped and turned around.

"One more thing." He hesitated for a moment then spoke again. Amaron raised his gaze to meet the captain's.

"It smelled like...smoke. Even away from the battlefield. Even with no fires nearby."

Amaron froze in his seat. For the briefest of instances it was the inquisitor's eyes that widened in fear. Then he smiled and regained his composure.

"Thank you captain. Your service is appreciated" The captain bowed and left.

"Did you hear that?" The inquisitor uttered into the darkness.

"Yes" a deep voice answered from the shadows. The inquisitor lifted a datapad, recalling a report. The screen filled with the image of a smug faced eldar girl in a homespun dress, wearing a veil white as the first snow.

"An unknown eldar entity in the form of a veiled girl. No heartbeat, smelling of smoke. Capable of taking a bullet from an assault cannon straight to the chest without flinching." The inquisitor lifted the datapad. "These are your words."

"They are. I saw it with my own eyes." answered the voice from the shadows. The massive boot of a terminator armor stepped out from the shadows. The slate grey color meant only one thing.

"So did I" echoed the inquisitor. He didn't turn his head but instead scratched his scarred hairless scalp. "Her information proved correct, didn't it? She helped us capture a daemon that day."

"It did" said the deep voice from within the terminator armor.

"And she brokered a peace treaty on the other rim that has proved very beneficial for the imperium." The inquisitor closed his eyes and two swirling black eyes stared back at him in his mind. And the smell of smoke. Her words echoed in his mind. _When the time comes, if left with no other option, I will pull all of this galaxy down with me through the veil._

"Your orders?"

Inquisitor Amaron opened his eyes again, put down the datapad and sighed heavily. They both knew what must be done. The inquisitor had put many a child to the torch for the good of mankind during his days. Even so this one, a xeno, one that had threatened and bullied him, proved especially difficult. But there was but one way forward that ensured the survival of mankind. Reluctantly he let the hammer fall and signed the order.

"Find it. Kill it."


	17. The cradle of half-finished hope

" _What_ did you say?" Imisha hissed, voice filled to the brim with venom.

"Nefermind" the old ork grunted in resignation as he shifted most of Imisha's weight onto his other shoulder.

"Oh no, I want to know _exactly_ what you said" crackled the seers voice once again in the intercom.

The ork janitor sighed as he carefully lowered himself down the rocky slope. The visibility in the toxic mist was all but zero and the hazard suit he wore did not make his job any easier. Nor did the pissed off farseer he carried on his back. Sweat was pouring down his face when he finally reached a space flat enough to gently lower his burden for a moment.

"I surez it be yourz suit" he panted.

"Oh, no! You said 'I thought all pointy ears were supposed to be slim and light'. No mention of the suit!" Imisha mimicked the ork speech mannerism as best she could, sitting propped up against a large rock, arms crossed and fire in her eyes.

"I thought yer didn't knowz what I said" the ork mumbled in return. He could only make out the vague shape of the farseers hazard suit and was saved by the haze from her furious gaze.

"I know exactly what you said. Now apologize!"

"I be carrying yers on my back and I haz to apologize!?"

"Yes!"

"It be not my fault dat yer be fat with da babies! Or dats yer was stupid enuff to get yerself stabbed!"

He could hear the seer taking a breath as if to speak but then the speaker inside his helmet fell silent. The old ork immediately regretted his harsh words. Slumped on the rock in front of him was the pitiful figure of the farseer. She still had no feeling or control of her lower body. Had she been an ork it would only be a matter of time before she healed. But she was an eldar and they were as fragile as glass. And he had seen the severed nerves with his own eyes. Perhaps the pointy ears had some magic he lacked but barring that she would never walk again.

Had to be tough, the ork mused as he cooled down. The poor pointy ear couldn't even control her own bodily functions anymore and was now forced to wear a diaper. He remembered the first time she had unwittingly pissed the bed she had put her in and how she had tried to hide it. Her pride had to have taken a hit from that. Yeah, it had to be tough. Three babies in her belly, far away from all her kin, all alone.

But yet here she was anyway, showing no signs of giving up. Relentlessly pursuing the only thing that mattered. In more ways than one they were pretty alike, his daughter and the haughty farseer. None of them were pretty, though in different ways. Both had a temper. Neither would ever admit to doing anything wrong. Stubborn as hell they were. He decided that the likeness was the best compliment he could muster as an excuse for calling the hormonal farseer fat.

"Okz okz! I be sorry! Sheesh! Yer be a just like herz" he finally laughted into the helmet.

"I am?" came Imisha's small voice in return.

"Yeah" he chuckled "She didn'tz want to admitz she was clumsy. Knocking over everything wehereffer she wentz, dat one. Did notz like me pointing it out!"

"You sure we are on the right path? You sure this way leads to where you left her?" the farseer inquired carefully, seemingly having accepted his apology.

"Yes, da way be pretty easy to remember. Just one hell of a descent." And one hell of a climb up again. Shit. He hadn't thought of that before, it would be even worse. There was a small silence between them. Finally Imisha spoke again. Her voice was composed and light, as if stretching out a hand of truce through the aether towards him.

"You never told me how an ork torturer came to adopt and eldar child and started writing...erotica"

"It was herz dat forced me start writingz. Such a dirty mind on datz one." he once again chuckled at the memory of his daughter.

"That's it? She wanted you to start writing and you did?" Imisha answered, clearly unconvinced.

"Yer knows she changes yer, doesn't yer?" The farseer was silent, offering no response over the intercom.

"Just being aroundz her changes yer. She haz dis...aura. Yer start finkin' strangely."

"At first we wanted to sells herz as a slave. Der was nuffing else worth shitz in da chamber up ahead where me and da team found her. She would be our only profit. We chained herz up and..." He stopped, hardly being able to believe how they had treated her in those early days. The old ork had to almost forcibly unclench his jaws to continue.

"Yer don'tz see it coming. It grows in yer likez a tree, so slowly yer can't see the difference from day to day. At first yer just don't feelz like hurting her. Den I foundz myself tending to her woundz, bring her extra food... and beforez yer knows it..."

"You love her." Imisha stated.

"Yes."

"So she manipulates people to do her will" Imisha's voice had a bitter edge.

"I dontz thinks she can controlz it. It be like breathing for herz. And it only seems workz on a few people. Belief me, der be plenty of times it would have been mighty useful if she could controlz people and forke dem to likez her. But most people just see her as a little runt."

"She is a little runt" Imisha spat over the intercom.

"Is dat why yer camez halfway across the galaxy, to tell herz dat?"

Yet again, the ork was met with nothing but silence.

"Come onez. I told yer my story. Now tell me yourz."

The ork squinted through the haze at the shadow of the farseer on the rock. She sat dead still as if frozen, obviously contemplating something. After a moment he could see her slowly raising he hand and gently stroking the outside of her suit where her stomach was. The ork looked away, feeling he was intruding on a private moment. Instead he stood up and got ready to continue.

"It be okz, let get goingz shall..." But he was interrupted.

"We are dying." Imishas voice was soft, almost a whisper.

"Yer might not be able to walkz again, but I don't finks yer is dying..."

"I don't mean me and my children specifically. I mean all of us. The Eldar. We are dying. We have been dying for the last ten thousand years. A slow suffocating death, gasping for air, each breath harder than the last. Bit by bit, we are going out with a whimper."

What the fuck do you answer to something like that, the ork couldn't help thinking. He shifted uncomfortably. The Eldar and the Orks were vicious enemies. He should be overjoyed to hear and witness their demise. But he was not.

"I be sorryz." he grunted.

"I am a seer among my people. Not a very good one but still it is my job to look into the future to try to see the best path ahead for our people. Yet everywhere I gaze there is fire and death waiting for us. Everywhere but in one direction."

"For when I remember her, when I picture her face in my mind, it is like someone is lighting a candle in my heart. And from that candle all the darkness in the galaxy is forced to retreat. It is the sole light in a world that has known only gloom. The small flickering flame whispers to me, comforts me, promises me that there is still hope for my children to grow up in a better world than this shitty one." Imisha was sobbing through the speaker.

"From that flame a golden thread spirals off into eternity. Every day I open my eyes and follow that thread into tomorrow, praying that it leads me on the right path. A path that has so far alienated me from everyone and stranded me here, legless and friendless. Yet like a moth, I have no choice but to follow the flame."

"Dat be very pretty and all." The old ork suddenly had an impulse to scratch his head but the suit stopped him. " But I just be an orkz. What does it mean?"

"I think she is in trouble. I have...seen her...in pain. Hurting." The old ork could hear Imisha drawing a sharp breath and unwittingly clenched his own fists at her words. "When I close my eyes I can almost feel her breaking. And if she breaks so does any hope I have for the future."

"Den we better getz going." He walked over to the farseer in two strides and stretched out his hand. She took it and he gently hoisted her body onto his shoulders.

"Just one fing."

"Yes?"

"Yer not friendless"

"I'm not?" It was clear from her confusion that farseer completely missed the underlying implication.

This one's dafter than the last one, the orkish smut writer mused as he started down the rocky slope once again. Perhaps _The daft knocked up pointy eared farseer_ could be a suitable title for his next novel?

"No, yer not."

* * *

"Yer can breathe in herez" the ork announced and before Imisha could protest he started removing his hazard suit. And true to his word he didn't die choking on the toxic fumes. Strange, the long winding tunnel they had entered had contained no barriers that would keep the poisonous outside air out. It was pitch dark inside the chamber and Imisha had only the torch mounted on her suit to give her light and even that was woefully insufficient for piercing the compact darkness. The rocky wall she was leaning on was jetblack and smooth as glass. Could it be obsidian? Tentatively she reached out with her gloved hand and stroked across it.

"I be telling yer, it be safe"

Still hesitant Imisha pulled the glove off her suit and touched the surface. She immediately retracted the hand.

"It's cold!"

"Yer, it be chilly in here"

Imisha turned around as best she could and shone her torch onto the fissure from which they had just emerged. It looked exactly like a crack in a piece of glass. Turning her torch upwards she could see the wall curving slightly upwards and two the side, as if they were inside a huge marble. Imisha removed her helmet so she could see better. Nervously she drew a breath of cold air into her lungs. It reminded her of the mountain air at her beloved exodite moon, clear and clean. Awkwardly she started wriggling out of her suit. Her ork escort stood next to her, looking uncertain.

"Yer wantz some helpz?" he asked carefully.

"No thank you" Imisha managed with as much dignity she could muster. "But could you..." she jerked her head the other way. She had certainly grown to accept many things she never in her wildest dream never thought she would do. But still she'd rather change her own diaper without an audience if possible.

"Oh yer rightz" Sheepishly he wandered around to a group of boulders next to them and turned his head way. Imisha got down to business. Thank Isha that she was strong as an ox in her arms.

"How did you find this place anyway?"

"I be just another dot on a map. I dontz rememberz where we gotz the info. In those timez we took any lead we could findz. Me and my teamz." the ork shrugged.

"You never told me what happened to your team, you still keep in touch?" Imisha wondered.

"Noes." His voice was short but Imisha was too focused on her task at hand to pick up on it.

"Why not?

"Dem be dead". Now Imisha got the point. The point being drop the subject.

"I'm sorry" she mumbled and lowered her head. "I'm done, could you come pick me up please?" The earless ork lumbered over and looked down on her.

"Won't yer be coldz in dat?" Imisha's rune armor would not fit inside the hazard suit so she wore only the thin overall she usually had on under the armor.

"Oh, it's warpconductive. I'll be fine"

"It be wutz?" A look of purest confusion spread across the ork's face.

"It allows me to use my mind to keep myself warm" Imisha smiled back. She looked completely different when she smiled, the ork mused.

"Dat must come in handy" The ork scratched his the stubs of his ears at the notion of clothes that warm themselves.

"It does indeed." Imisha almost laughed a little. She shifted to show a piece on her shoulder. "You see this rune here..."

"Wut be dats der?" The ork interrupted her, pointing towards a symbol low on Imisha's stomach.

"Oh that..." the seer blushed.

"Wut it be?" the ork pressed on.

"It's an old fertility symbol. For...you know..."

"Yes yes. Dem babies and all. I seenz it beforez." He glanced back from where he just had stood.

"What?" Imisha tried to stand up but then remembered she couldn't. So instead she reached up her hands and allowed the ork to hoist her into his arms. With quick steps her carried he back towards the rock where he had just waited. He lowered the seer to the ground and pointed to a low rock protruding from the floor. It was different than the rest, covered with a porous light mineral that crumbled when touched. At it's base was undoubtedly several runes on a piece of shining black stone. Imisha squinted and shook her head.

"Wut dem be?" her companion asked her eagerly.

"They look like runes. But ...it's like a dialect...they make no sense."

"Dat onez looks like da one yer has on yer belly." The ork pointed towards one of the symbols.

"It is almost the same. But you see with runes the details matter so much. See how this one is tilted. As I said mine is a fertility symbol. This is much more technical, like an engineering term. It would be..." Imisha shook her head and muttered, trying to remember her rune lessons.

"Creator? Not quite. Constructor...constructor function?" Imisha shook her head. She tried to brush the dust from the stone when part of the stone over the runes came off. Out from underneath the stone peaked a perfect shiny black toe. Eagerly she tore more and more of the crust away, revealing a whole foot, broken off where the rock ended.

"Der be more scribbles over herez"

Imisha didn't wait for him to come and get her but crawled over to the next rock when the ork sat crouched. Eagerly she scraped away the dust, revealing another broken foot. This one was slightly larger and somewhat coarser. Of course. It was a male foot. Below it were another set of confusing runes.

"Maintenance? No no no. Energy...fuel...fuel collector?"

"Is dis some kinds of old eldar factory?" the ork tried. Imisha shook her head.

"These aren't rocks. They were statues. There is a theme here, a schema." She pointed back towards the other rock. "That one over emblematized the creation of something, this one here keept whatever it was going"

Imisha looked up suddenly realizing something. Hand shaking she shone her torch at the stones standing before her. If you discounted the rubble and other broken rocks the stones were standing in a perfect circle. In the exact middle of the circle was another shadowy rock formation.

"Where exactly did you find her? First time you met her?" Her voice was shaking.

"Der, lying on dat rock where yer is shining yer light"

"Please take me there" A thought was forming in Imisha's head. An unthinkable, impossible thought. Her eyes never left the center rock as the ork carried her closer. This rock was much lower than the others and hollowed out like a bath tub. Like the others it had a plaque of runes at the bottom.

"What do dem sayz?"

"Destructor function." Imisha uttered numbly. Having read the first plaque this one was easy. It was the clear opposite. What the first statue lifted up this one would send crashing down. At the bottom was another set of three runes, much less ornate than the others, seemingly scribbled on in haste. They read: _Unfinished, unborn, but not unloved_. Imisha slumped down on the floor. She could not believe it.

"Wut does it meanz?"

Without looking up Imisha pointed towards the first rock formation.

"That there was once a statue of Isha, the Eldar goddess of life"

She pointed towards the next rock.

"This one must have been Kurnous, the god of the hunt"

She swirled her hand around.

"I am willing to bet that these are all of the Eldar pantheon" She stared in disbelief at the center rock again, absent mindedly tearing away big chunks of crust from the shining container beneath.

"Dis be a temple? Wut be datz here in da middle?"

When Imisha didn't answered he bowed down and helped her clear the crust off the stone. A strange structure was emerging from under the layer of loose rock. It was like a hollow table with rounded bars for legs and a big indentation in the middle.

"Dis make any sense to yer?"

"Yes" Imisha breathed. "It's a crib."

"A wut?"

"A bed made for a small child." Imisha's hand stroked the exquisite stone construction. It was clearly made with a lot of care and attention.

"But who was it meantz for? Der be no..." As the words left his mouth he realized he already knew who must have slept in it.

"The Eldar goddess of Death"


	18. Enter the dragon

A slow clapping of hands rang out in the dark chamber. The old ork swirled around, searching the darkness with his torch. Imisha curled up against the stone cradle, feeling helpless and useless.

"So you finally figured it out" came a taunting sinister voice from the darkness.

"The dirty little secret. The missing piece of the puzzle. The pot of gold at the end of the rainbow." Imisha desperately swirled left and right trying to locate the disembodied voice. Panic was rising inside her.

"Took you long enough" came the same voice from a completely different direction.

The old ork snarled and bellowed into the compact blackness as if tasting the evil intent in the air.

"Your precious little hope..." there was the sound of galloping hooves. The feeble torch in Imisha's hand seemed to dim and only caught a shadow moving at the edge of the circle or ruined statues.

"...is really here to kill all of you. It's priceless!" the laughter was unearthly.

"Do you think it was worth it, little farseer? Considering all you lost? When you lie there in your own piss, unable to move do you feel proud of your choices? Hmmm? Do you feel proud?" An inhuman snicker echoed in the cast chamber. "Well look at it on the bright side: at least you won't feel a thing when I cut you open."

Imisha knew that voice. She crawled deeper down towards the crib. The ork stepped in front of her, shielding her from whatever was out there.

"I can't thank you enough for leading me here. Quite a little wonder they manage to hide away here. My mistress will learn much from studying this chamber. Enough to snuff out your pesky little upstart god for good." To the right of them one of the statues collapsed under a heavy blow.

"We wouldn't want you all to die, would we? Do you want to know a secret? It's because death is too good for you. Only eternal suffering will do." If hate had a voice, this would be it. Tears of terror was running down Imisha´s cheeks.

"But really all of this doesn't matter. You see my mistress has already won, like she always does. The final battle has already been fought. You feel it don't you? Deep down? Do you want to know a secret? My mistress has already crippled your little god. Broken her. Desecrated her. Stole her father and ate her mother in front of her very eyes." With every word the voice sounded like it was coming closer but still the flickering torches found nothing in the darkness.

"Do you want to know a secret? Do you know what your saviour did when her family was slaughtered?" The laughter rang out once again. "Nothing! Not a thing! She just lay there and let it happen" A small rock came surging out from the darkness, landing right next to them, making them both jump. "Now one has to ask: If she can't protect those closest to her, where does that leave you?" The last few words sounded like they came from right next to them.

"Her father ain't dead yet!" the old ork called out defiantly into the gloom.

"Oh, isn't this precious? The brute has been enchanted has it? Caught a whiff of that sweet pointy eared fever did it?" The evil voice giggled.

"Does it want to know a secret? She..."

"...is just using me? Yes yes, she already toldz me datz. Da be no secret" The ork scoffed at the black. An annoyed hiss sounded in the dark. Seeing the ork stand tall in the face of the terror Imisha found her composure again and whipped her terrified soul back in line.

"Yer surez talkz a lot. But yer don't knowz her very wellz. We met peoplez like datz beforez, me and herz. People who talked lotz, who underestimated herz. It didn't turn out too wellz for dem."

"I am no people!" came a defiant roar. Heavy steps were coming closer.

"You are making it mad" Imisha hissed.

"I wantz it mad! I think da be our only chance" the ork shot back. The then took a deep breath and continued taunting the dark.

"Whateffer, I could carez less! But yer fearz her. I can smellz it in yer big and fancy talk. Yer is afraid. And datz means yer is lying. She aint lost yet. She still be fighting. Isn't dat so?" The darkness was silent, the heavy footsteps stopping.

"What, no sassy comeback? Outwitted by an ork?" Imisha flung out, getting caught up in the moment. Her comeback was somewhat diminished by the fact that she was still hiding between her protectors legs. She looked up sheepishly. "No offense"

"Noon taken" the ork smiled down at her. After a period of silence the evil voice in the dark spoke again.

"Last time we met I made you a promise, little farseer. I told you I would eat your children. And that you would get to watch." The steps continued to come closer. Imisha clutched at her stomach.

"Do you want to know a secret? I always keep my promises."

With a clinking of chains a giant shadow separated itself from the compact darkness before them. Two slender yet enormous hooves stepped forward, crushing the stone under them. The coarse leg hair was braided in elaborate swirling patterns with each knot ending in a golden chain. These chains ran up the luscious legs as they transformed from goat like to silky pink skin, sometimes submerging in the flesh piercings. In the groin the chains coalesced like worms into a massive engorged member of metal which stood erect out from the body, swaying from side to side as the creature moved. All along the shaft knife like barbs thrust out from within the squirming mass of chains.

Down the torso ran a series of heavy breasts, like that of the stomach of a sow. But where the nipples should have been each instead had a tiny mouth, full of gnashing teeth. Attached to the shoulders were four arms, the upper pair ending in slender smooth skinned hands and the lower ones twisting into gigantic crab like pincers. Above the shoulders sat a pink bull's head, with multiple set of horns spiralling up towards into the darkness above. It was a nightmare such as neither of them had seen before. But those eyes, even in the bovine face. Imisha knew those bull head shot forward, big black swirling eyes shining down on them.

"What? No sassy comeback? Don't you remember me?" The androgynous monstrosity threw their own taunt right back in their faces. Imisha did knew the daemon. It had possessed the dancer she had electrocuted in the dressing room. It was the one who had stabbed her, robbing her of the use of her legs before fleeing back to the warp. And now it was back to finish the job.

To consume her and her children. Imisha started shaking, tears flooding down her cheeks. The ork however stood firm.

"Nopes. But thanks for coming out in da lightz where I can seez yer" A rapid series of loud beeps sounded from the the ork open hand, revealing an armed grenade.

It all happened so fast. There was a deafening boom, a bright flash of light and before Imisha knew it the ork had picked her up and was speeding away into the darkness. The whole chamber shook, rocks falling from the ceiling. Behind them the daemon roared in pain and fury.

"Now it's really mad!" the ork snickered as he sprinted away from the daemon, carrying Imisha on his back. "I had forgottenz how much I lovez dem grenadez!"

"We can't let her leave! If this is indeed the birthing chamber of...your daughter...we can't let her pry into it's secrets!" Imisha shot back, hanging over his shoulder with all the dignity of a sack of potatoes.

"We haz no chance against dat! Best thing we can hope forz is to warnz her! And for dat we need to live!"

"But where will we run? We can't go back up! No chance we will get into our suits again with her after us!" Imisha really fought to keep the panic out of her voice. There were few fates that the Eldar feared more than being devoured by a daemon.

"I noticed a new tunnel into da rubble when we first entered dat I have notz seenz before. I be guessing dat da little one formed it last time she waz herez. I think da be our best bet." the ork panted, steering off into a new direction.

"Why didn't you mention this before?" Imisha asked incredulously.

"Yer was so excited about da scribbles! First time I have seen yer happy aboutz anything since yer got stabbed. For once yer didn't have that look like yer gotz gretchin shitz under yer nose!" Imisha sent a gaze of pure spite at him. "Yes dat look! Thought I let yer have dat moment." The heat rose in Imisha's cheeks while she bit her tongue. That's how you treated a child. Had it always been like this, with people going out of their way to accommodate her? Was she truly an adult at all or just a wilful child that no one had the energy to argue with?

Finally the ork put her down against the rocky wall. They were standing in a tunnel carved into the rubble covering what must be the center of the chamber. Imisha realized that the chamber had to be much larger than she initially realized and that the circle of statues where they had found the crib must have been positioned almost along one of the walls. Neither of them dared to light their torches but in the faint light from up ahead it looked like the rocks had been forced to fit together into an arch that supported the entire ceiling.

"Do yer smell smoke?" The old ork sniffed the air.

"Sssh" Imisha hushed. In the distance they could hear the enraged daemon searching for them out in the chamber. Imisha could feel it out there in the warp, searching for her. She threw up the walls around her mind as tight as she could and beckoned the ork closer.

"Let's go deeper. There seems to be a light up ahead." she whispered. The ork picked her up and sneaked as quietly as possible deeper into the tunnel. When they passed around the next bend the tunnel into the rubble opened up into a larger cave. In the middle of the cave stood a perfectly round runed arch made out of the same black stone as the statues. The runes glittered with a faint light.

"Great. Scribbles dat glows..." the ork sighed and started to turn around.

"No! This is a webway gate! I mean, I never seen one like this before. But it has to be." Imisha patted the ork repeatedly on the arm in pure excitement, urging him closer to the arch. Putting Imisha down next to the stone arch he scratched his head.

"Now dat yer say it's I think she mentioned sumthing about datz. Wut it be?"

"It's a gateway into the warp. If I can activate it we can escape!"

Ever so carefully Imisha lowered the walls around her soul and reached out. In front of her the gateway hummed to life. So it was a webway gate! Imisha smiled and poured more power into the gate. But she shouldn't have. For from outside in the chamber came a triumphant screech and the sound of hoofs rushing towards them. Imisha cursed, of course the daemon would notice a portal into the warp opening.

"Whatever yer is going to does, does it fast! Like red onez fast!" the ork mumbled through gritted teeth.

"Do you have any more grenades?"

The ork pulled up another jagged scary looking bomb. "Last one. But it will only piss it off even more. Daemons dat big be hard to kill."

Imisha looked around in desperation. The webway gate was powering up but way too slowly. Opening it was like trying to explain something without speaking the language. The gate was so different from any Eldar gate she had ever used. And she also had the nagging suspicion that there was not enough power left to open the gate even if she did manage to convey her intentions to the thrice damned machine. That left but one choice.

"The tunnel. Collapse the tunnel!"

"Da ceiling might come crashing in and crush us!"

"It's that or be eaten! At least this way we have a chance!"

The ork shrugged his shoulders, nodded and lobbed the grenade into the tunnel opening. Then he sprinted back and threw himself on top of Imisha. Before Imisha had time to protest the ground heaved as if the earth beneath them wanted to throw up. A tidal wave of dust and stone washed over them, knocking the ork away from her. Imisha was lifted of the ground and thrown around like a fly in a whirlwind, constantly pelted with rocks, dirt filling her lungs and threatening to choke her. Ears ringing she at last fell down to the ground again. Desperately trying to draw breath she half retched half coughed up the dust forced down her throat and looked around. The air was filled dust and visibility was all but zero. Then Imisha noticed that she was all wet. Wet and sticky. Fearing the worst she instinctively reached out into the warp for her children but the three sparks were still there, growing fiercer. Hand trembling she reached down to find the wound. It had to be on her lower body because she could not feel anything seriously wrong with the rest of her body. Pushing herself up into a sitting position she started examining her legs.

"Are you ok?" she called out for the ork. No answer came back. Imisha finished checking her legs but found nothing. When she withdrew her hands she understood why. They were covered in blood. Green blood.

"No..." she stammered and started searching around, crawling on the rocky floor using only the strength of her arms.

"Dat be a big boom" came a faint voice from the dust. Imisha frantically crawled closer. Finally she found him. Under a piece of rock twice her size.

"Sit still, I will get you out! You are going to be alright! Just...hang on!" With great effort Imisha summoned a storm inside her soul and started to focus it on the rock.

"I might be an ork. But I aint no stoopid. Save yer strength." the ork smiled back, spitting green blood. Looking down Imisha saw what he meant, the flesh below his shoulders were essentially mush.

"Now both of us be legless. Da legless duo!" he smiled before a bloody coughing fit consumed him. "Good title for a book, me thinks" The ork pulled Imisha closer.

"Yer find her. And when yer do yer tell her dat I never forgetz her. And dat I went out with a boom."

"You saved my life again. Why?" Imisha stammered.

"Yer knows why" The old orks eyes glazed over, as if looking at something far away.

"I don't" was all Imisha could muster as he faded in her arms.

"Yer life, and da life you yer babies. Dem be...dem be..sa...sacr..." And with that he was gone.

Imisha had seen much death in her years. She had extinguished countless lives herself. Seen friends fall around her. Witnessed the death of whole planets. By now she should be quite numb. But she found she wasn't. Not by far. It was with a heavy heart that she closed the dead orks eyes and muttered an ancient prayer for those who passed beyond the veil.

It grows inside you like a tree, he had said. So slowly you can't see it. But one day you find yourself loathing death and pain. If it is as he said that this is some seed planted by the death goddess then why does she inspire such fervent belief in the sanctity of life? When her sole purpose must surely be to take it all away?

The sound of shifting rocks snapped Imisha back to reality. Something was digging through the rubble now blocking the tunnel. And it wasn't hard to figure out what it was. Summoning all of her remaining strength Imisha threw her mind against the gate yet again, praying that it still stood. It responded even more sluggishly than before. Fear filled Imisha as the sounds of rocks crashing against the floor outside the chamber came ever closer. She would never open the portal wide enough for a her to enter in time. Was this finally the end?

No. Her body might not be able to pass through but her mind might. Focusing her soul into a needle she punched through the gateway barrier with all of her strength. The gate resisted vigorously, trying with ever greater strength to force her back out. Hanging on by her mental fingertips tips Imisha sent a single word out into the endless tunnels of the webway before the gate collapsed.

 _Help!_

Her strength utterly spent the lone farseer collapsed on the floor. Helplessly she was forced to watch as the daemon slowly dug it's way into her chamber. Her body screamed in pain, her mind was almost blank. Every ounce of energy she owned had been spent. Time seemed to stand still until finally a giant bull's head peeked through a hole in the rubble. Second later the daemon pushed it's whole body through the hole. The ork's grenade and the collapsing tunnel had hurt it, Imisha could see the daemonic aura flickering angrily. Daemons belonged in the warp and when damaged they lost their hold in the material dimension. Hurt them enough and they were banished back to their home. But even at full power Imisha would have stood no chance against a daemon this big, weakened or not. As it was she couldn't even flee. The pincers at the ends of the monster's arms clicked eagerly. Imisha found she didn't even have the energy to feel terror.

"There you are" the daemon smiled down at her, her big blank bovine eyes full with madness and hatred. "Now shall we begin?"

A deep feral roar from deep within the webway blew the portal wide open. It instantly exploded with light as it activated fully, the runes on the surface crackling with eldritch power. A giant scaled leg stepped through, razor sharp claws sprouting from the flesh like gleaming swords. Another massive leg lumbered through. After that came a giant reptilian jaw, full of teeth as long as Imisha's arms. Yellow glittering eyes almost blazed in the gloom of the chamber. A steady stream of saliva ran from the slavering jaws as the beast stepped forward towards Imisha, mouth wide open. With the greatest care it picked her up in it's massive jaws and set her down again next to the portal. The beast nudged her affectionately and uttered a worried purr from deep within as she collapsed on the ground. Then it turned its enormous head back towards the daemon and roared in challenge with such intensity that small rocks brooke loose from the ceiling and rained down all around them. The earth shook as the whole dragon squeezed through the portal.

"The female is mine. I claim her! You may never have her!" cried the exodite chieftain perched on top of the dragon as he lowered his lance and charged.

 _Authors note:_

 _This deus ex machina damsel in distress type of ending is not very good writing. I guess sometimes you want to improve and try to be clever. Other times you just want to try to write some cool shit with dragons._


	19. I am a failure

_Many years before Imisha fought for her life in the crumbling temple_

Ynnead stepped into the jet black dome, her small naked feet reluctantly making their way into her birthplace. Her head was bowed and her fists were clenched in barely suppressed panic. She was walking towards her end, that much was certain. No matter what lies she had told her surrogate father she knew there would be no happy ending to her story. She had said her goodbyes at the entrance of temple, while she still had her wits and could hold back the tears.

One would think that for a goddess of the veil death would come naturally. But for all her might Ynnead was but a child, an unfinished work, alone in a dark universe with scarce few allies. The little goddess found that death was a somewhat different concept when it was her own. Death was truly an abomination, she mused, like herself. Her stomach churned at the thought of the innocent lives she had ripped apart and consumed.

Within her soul, she held the lone flickering flame of hope for her people. A flame that would now be utterly extinguished. They would fade away, consumed by the void, their only legacy the abominations they had set loose in the galaxy. The promise of what they could be, what they once were, in the very beginning, before they were turned into a weapon of war, would be lost forever.

For it was not her death so much as her failure that Ynnead lamented. She had not even gotten started. The time she had been given had been wasted, spent away from her people hiding on some godforsaken rock at the edge of the galaxy. Afraid to face her own people and destiny. She still remembered the first time she had glimpsed one of her kin, a hard-faced scarred pirate who had been selling slaves in the market. The shock of seeing him sent her into hiding for a week, shivering in the deepest cellar of the theatre.

Once again she found herself face to face with her kin. The circle of statuses that enclosed her birthplace stared down at her. The Eldar pantheon, now long dead and gone. Grime and ash had coated the statuses with a thick layer of dirt that made them all but indistinguishable from each other. But Ynnead instinctively knew them anyway. It was in her blood.

Thick tentacles of smoke snaked from her body and started to gently clean the dirt off the nearest statue. Underneath the filth, a naked majestic figure started to emerge. High cheekbones, long flowing hair and elegant curves. From her slender toes to the tips of her full breasts to her warm smile the mother of the Eldar, the goddess of life was the epitome of perfection. Her face told a story of calm pride. Proud of the life and light she had ushered into the world, passed beyond the veil with her purpose fulfilled.

Next to this real goddess, the fake dirty little goddess of death looked like a poor joke. Thin and flat yet a little pudgy like only a child can be, hair standing on end in all directions, stubborn jaw set in envy. Standing in front of her elder sister in shame, her purpose spoiled, a failure in every sense of the word. Isha reminded Ynnead of everything she was not. Once the smoked had finished clearing the statue Ynnead just stood there, staring up into the stony face above her.

"I failed," she uttered at last. The blackness of the cave swallowed her small words instantly.

"I am a failure." Ynnead let the words sink in. She lowered her head in shame. Then she jerked it up again. Black fire flashed in her eyes.

"Why did you leave me all alone?" She snarled at the statue, tears running down her cheeks. Sparks of pure darkness flew from her eyes as she spoke.

"Why am I the one who must do everything? Save everyone? Alone!?" Ynnead whirled around, hungry smoke flying in all direction, tearing at the grime covering the remaining statues. This time any gentleness was gone from her touch. A storm of stone flew into the air as the statues were stripped naked before her. In defiance, Ynnead stared at her brothers and sisters, her eyes moving from statue to statue.

"Warrior. Hunter. Smith." She turned back to Isha and spat in frustration. "Fucking mega milk little miss perfect."

"Anyone of you must surely be better suited for this task than I am. The child, the unfinished one." She stabbed a finger towards the cradle in the centre of the ring of statues. "Your own words! Remember? So perhaps one of you could lend me a little hand?" The statues stared back at her in silence.

"Anyone? Just a little?" Ynnead's voice was cracking as if part of her was hoping the stone would really answer her. "I could really use it"

But the reserve was a compact as the gloom.

"Well fuck you then! Fuck you and fuck your destiny!" In the blink of an eye, a thick smoky tendril had wrapped itself around Isha's throat. Stone snapped and splintered as the statue tore free from its base and hovered in the air before the Eldar child. Then with a screech, Ynnead shattered the statue. Eyes blazing she turned her gaze towards the other statuses, filling the air with dust and the sound of crushing stone. When it settled she was the only one left standing.

Panting, her rage spent, Ynnead was suddenly filled with regret. In her head, she could hear her orcish father scolding her for actions. Funny, the closest thing she had ever had to a family wasn't even of her own kin. What did she really owe these people? The shattered face of Isha stared up at her from the ground. She found she hated it.

"You are sick is what you are. The lot of you. Filling me with needs I can't possibly fulfil. Redeem. Liberate. Hunger. Kill." Ynnead swallowed hard and continued in a whisper. "Grow up. Live."

"I can't save them. Can't save anything. I can't. All I can do is destroy." Ynnead dried her tears and directed her blazing gaze back towards the statues.

"I refuse to be your doomsday weapon. I won't drag the rest of the galaxy down with me just because we are fucked up. As long as it was just our own people I could try my best. I was fine with sacrificing myself upon your altar to try to right our wrongs. I was still going to fail but at least I would die in an attempt to make this galaxy a better place."

"But there are others out there. Others that have no part in our sin. Others that I...I have now fed upon." Fierce conviction found the little goddess once again.

"ALL life is sacred. But I guess you have conveniently forgotten that. But I still remember." Ynnead's robe exploded from her body in a flash of smoke sending shards of cloth spinning in all directions. When the smoke subsided Ynnead stood as naked as the statues had been. Yet she was not like them. Her hands, face and feet were smooth-skinned, her ears pointed and her eyes sharp. But down her chest and back ran a series of markings consisting of dark grey dull scales and tiny white feathers. Like the rest of her, they were neither elegant nor beautiful. There was no pattern or design to them, like a child's clumsy painting. Man, bird and snake all moulded into one with the humanoid part just barely emerging as dominant.

Ynnead strode over to her cradle and placed her hand upon it. Her fingers traced the inscription in the stone. "Unfinished you call me. Well if you are the finished product then I think I'll pass." The goddess lifted her head again and steeled herself.

"I'm going to the human god to confess my sins. He will judge me and make sure I hurt no one else." The small head scanned the darkness, sniffing the air. Her gaze settled on the giant pile of stone in the very centre of the dome. Tentacles of smoke once again flew from her body, tearing a tunnel into the rock as she strode forwards.

"Goodbye. I am sorry I failed you. I am sorry that I am a failure."

There was a flash of light from the tunnel as Ynnead stepped through the webway portal buried deep within the rubble. For a split second, there was stillness.

Then the shadows started to move. An undulating laugh rang out in the chamber. A masked man stepped out from the darkness just beyond the ring of ruined statuses.

"Oh, my dear little sister. Finally, at long last, I have found you. And aren't you a feisty yet troubled one? Not a failure at all, you are just what I hoped you would be."

The man picked up a piece of a shattered statue. The shattered face was also wearing a mask. One half was smiling, the other crying. Just like the man.

"Neither are you alone."

From all around him hundreds of Eldar emerged from the shadows. All wearing masks and flowing colourful capes that exploded into fragments of light when they moved. The lead man threw down the broken piece of the statue and turned around towards his kin.

"We have work to do."


	20. Trial before Anathema

Ynnead folded her arms across her chest and pouted to the best of her ability. Which was quite formidable.

"I am not going away. I am not."

After wandering the warp for what seemed like an eternity Ynnead had finally found this watch post. Standing in the void with the brilliant Milky Way galaxy stretching out before her she gazed out over the swirling mass of stars. If you looked using only your eyes you might think she was alone. But she wasn't. The emperor of mankind was about to discover just how stubborn the little death goddess could be.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

 _Trespasser._

Ynnead wiggled her fingers. "Just touching the air, I mean space. It's a free galaxy."

 _Alien._

"I know you are, but what am I?"

 _Heretic._

The little Eldar spread her arms wide in exasperation.

"Now you're just talking out of your arse! How can I be a heretic? I am a goddamned..." Ynnead bit her tongue and ducked slightly as if cuffed on top of the head by an imaginary hand. "I mean, I am a god."

 _Daemon._

At those words, Ynnead froze, her impish smile slowly fading. The entire little body seemed to deflate like a balloon. Then she hung her head and swallowed hard.

"Yes, I know. That is why I am here."

 _Traitor._

"Yes, traitor. Traitor to life." Her voice was very small now.

 _Liar._

"Yes thank you very much, you made your damned point, ok?"

 _Malefactor._

"So you do know why I am here?"

 _Yes._

Ynnead waited, as if her next words didn't want to cross her chapped lips. "Can you make so I can never hurt anyone else again?"

 _Perhaps._

Ynnead took one last look at the galaxy and then, trembling she lifted her chin, exposing her slender throat.

"Make it quick, will you?"

 _Death._

"Yes." Ynnead was shivering from head to toe. She pinched her red and puffy eyes shut, tears streaming down her naked body. "Will...will it hurt?"

 _No._

The goddess took a deep breath and dried her tears. "I am ready."

 _No._

"What do you mean no?"

 _No._

"You're not going to destroy me?"

 _No._

"What? I killed your kin. I murdered them. I devoured their souls. They are gone now, utterly destroyed. All they were and would ever be. Their hopes and dreams, their past and future. Do you even know what that means?"

 _Yes._

"So just do it."

 _No._

"DO IT!" Ynnead lashed out with thrashing tentacles of grey mist in all directions, clawing at the void around her but finding nothing to latch on to.

"Do it, you impotent cripple or I will feed on you too. I will take you. Take all of you! Take everything and leave nothing!"

 _No._

Ynnead grinned a savage, eerie grin. The feathers on her shoulders raised like tiny hackles and her black scales gleamed menacingly. Even in the warp, the wind started to howl. Inside her eyes, two black stars darker than the void around her ignited in a flash of swirling smoke.

"Don't think I can do it do you? I am Ynnead of the stillborn hope and I am death incarnate! No living thing is beyond my grasp! Man, god or mice, I-"

 _Yes._

"I will consume you! And don't think I will stop there. I will kill every human! Even the women and...the...the children..." The little girl was now trembling so hard that she almost could not stand. Her voice was breaking at every single syllable. At the end, she could take it no more, retched violently and grasped her hands over her stomach.

 _Liar._

The wind dropped to whisper and the vicious hungry smoke evaporated into thin space. In the middle of it all the small Eldar child collapsed onto the ground, folding up into a fetal position, face hidden in her arms.

 _Coward._

"Why are you doing this to me?"

 _Duty._

"There is nothing I can do."

 _Atonement._

"What? No, I told-"

 _Penance._

"I can't undo what I did! Just end me."

 _Redemption._

"I CAN'T!"

 _Saviour._

"I'm not."

 _Hope._

"Stop. Please."

 _Destiny._

"I can't. I just can't."

 _Yes._

"I have already failed."

 _No._

The stars, previously so brilliant and bright, started to dim. In front of Ynnead the whole galaxy seemed somehow diminished. Then like a blanket of doom, darkness descended upon it. Finally, like water in a bathtub, all light started to drain into a gaping hole in one of the spiral arms. The Eye of Terror. The birthplace of She Who Thirsts and the epicentre of the old Eldar empire. The only legacy they would leave behind. The doom of Eldar would be the doom of all life. The screams of billions sang a song of despair in Ynnead's little mind. Humans, Eldar and Orks alike.

"NOOOOO!" Ynnead reached out her hands towards the dying galaxy. In some places, she could see the light was struggling, trying to resist the pull of doom. But it was outmatched, outclassed and outnumbered by the swarming darkness. And while it fought valiantly, in the end, all light was extinguished. Ynnead was left in the pitch dark of empty space. The voices fell silent.

"This isn't real" she yammered in panic. "I can still feel them. They're still out there. They're not gone! They're not!"

 _No._

"Is...is this what happens if I fail?"

 _Yes._

For a long long time, they sat there together in the darkness, emperor and goddess. Finally, the goddess spoke again. Her voice sounded older, like it was coming from somewhere deep inside of her.

"What must I do?"

 _Eldar._

Ynnead paused and took a deep breath. Then tentatively, she stretched forth her little palm towards the place where the galaxy had once been. "I must go to them. They are my responsibility now. Just as the humans are yours." At her words, a single dim star reappeared in the pitch dark sky. She caressed the image of the twinkling light with her fingers, smiling gently.

 _Yes._

The goddess of the Eldar laughed like the child she was, her girlish voice ringing out into the void like the first bell on a cold spring morning. She laughed and laughed, spinning around until she was too dizzy to stand. And one by one, the stars emerged again until the whole scintillating spiral once again sparkled upon her in all its glory. Her laughter rolled out over the galaxy, causing evil all around it to shudder and hiss in dismay. And every good-hearted being in need could feel that long-lost spark of hope flare and take root deep within them. For another banner of light had once again been raised in defiance of the darkness. Finally, Ynnead collapsed in a fit of giggles. For a time there was silence between the two deities once again as they gazed over the galaxy.

"Can you ever forgive me?"

 _No._

"Will it all make any difference? Do we have any chance at all?"

 _Unlikely._

Ynnead nodded, jumped to her feet, slapped her hands together in determination like that didn't matter. "But we have to try," she stated matter a factly.

 _Yes._

Her gloomy nature all a sudden gone Ynnead reverted to the same defiant and slightly whiny voice she had used when they had first met.

"But where do I go? I can't just show up on their doorstep!" The little girl made a mocking face. "Hi, my name is Ynnead, I'll be your new death goddess! Charming to meet you all, now bow down and worship me! And by the way, a foot rub would be-"

 _Black Library._

Ynnead frowned. "What is that?"

 _Find._

At first, the little girl opened her mouth to object but then closed it again, as if she just remembered something. She closed her eyes but behind her eyelids, her big brown eyes were still moving.

"I see it! But the gates are closed." Ynnead drew a sharp breath. "They are guarded. By something terrible."

 _Yes._

"There is a price to pay for entering. All must offer tribute. Even I."

 _Yes._

Ynnead swallowed and nodded, accepting her fate. She opened her eyes again and took a deep breath.

"Thank you. I guess this is goodbye." The clumsy girl managed an elegant curtsy, an ancient token of respect, not seen in the galaxy for tens of thousands of years. Then she turned her back on the nothingness and started to fade away.

 _Wait._

"Yes?"

 _Humans._

Ynnead nodded.

 _Live._

At first, Ynnead scoffed back at him. "Make up your bloody mind. You have your people and I have mine, that was your entire point, was it not?" But then she stopped as if remembering something. "All life is sacred. I will try my best."

 _UNACCEPTABLE._ This time the emperor of mankind sounded different somehow. His words fell on her like hammer blows. Unyielding. Unforgiving.

"I understand that my sins are neither forgiven nor forgotten. I have a debt that can never be repaid. But even so, you can not ask me to put your kin over my own. If so you might as well strike me down right here, right now." She was met with silence. Ynnead shrugged.

"Good. Guess worst case you can always kill me later."

 _YES._

Ynnead smirked, raising one of her eyebrows.

"Quite the charmer, aren't you?" She curtsied again. And with one last crooked smile, she was gone.

* * *

The galaxy still hung in the void and for a moment there was stillness. Then another voice spoke, belonging to neither emperor nor goddess. One that could render asunder the sanity of any who heard it. Fortunately, the only listener could not really be labelled sane.

 _Quite the spectacle. She is impressed. But she isn't fooled. She knows the Anathema and you are not him. She knows your scent. She knows your name. Cegorach._

The image of the galaxy exploded into a million tiny pieces of light which slowly collected together again, like falling snow. When the image reestablished, it took the form of a giant bone-white theatre mask. A manic snicker, quite unlike Ynnead's own clear laughter, rolled from its mouth slit.

"A performer is nothing without his audience. So glad you could join us, little sister. This concerns you too. Very much indeed. Slaaaaaaaneeeeeeesh."

A scream of rage echoed from the blackness and a horned shape rushed out from the void at unbelievable speed. Faster than any mortal eye could see a clawed hand reached for the mask. But it simply exploded again into a million pieces of light that evaporated into the night. The cackling mad laughter intensified, now coming from all around the newcomer.

"Too slow. Always too slow."

The chaos god stamped her hoof down so hard reality shook from the impact.

 _What was it? The little mouse! Tell her!_

"She is to you what you are to us." The voice in the void was no longer laughing, instead, a bitter hatred was slowly seeping into the words as it spoke.

 _It is broken. It is daft. It came here to die. She will oblige it._

"Oh, is that so? If you are so confident then why did you stay hidden in the shadows, might I wonder? Why did you not strike her down with all your might and glory? So what if she's a little broken? It runs in the family, does it not? I'm insane. You're insane. Why should she have to bear the burden of sanity all alone?" The voice was shifting direction with each word, creeping closer and closer all the time. The last few words were right next to the chaos god. "Huh?" "Huh?" "HUH?"

With a roar of fury, the chaos god swiped out into the darkness with her hands. At first it seemed that her hands found nothing but darkness. But then she caught something without form with the very tip of her claw. It wriggled and screamed, changing shape all the time in a desperate attempt to escape her grasp. But the doom of the Eldar did not let go, instead, she ever so slowly drew the whirling cloud of light closer to her horned head.

 _Finally, she will have you. She has waited a long time for this._

Slaanesh smiled, her slavering jaws opening wide, ready to feed. The laughing god, true to his name, laughed at her. Even while staring at his doom.

"Sister sister! You disappoint me. You really think I pulled off this prank all alone?"

"He could never forgive. If faced with our sibling that rigid old fart would have to extinguish her for her so-called sins. Something about pride and honour, I didn't really pay attention. But that would send us all down the drain, including many of his precious little humans. Once I got that fact through his thick primitive skull we came to an...arrangement."

"He could not be persuaded to give her the forgiveness or purpose she so sorely needed. But he could be coaxed to look the other way while I played my little tricks."

The swirling mist of light stabilized into a mask once again, still firmly trapped in the chaos gods grasp. It grinned wide, showing two rows of perfect white painted teeth. Slaanesh had almost closed her jaws around the laughing god. Thus his next last word almost came from her lips.

"For a little while, that is."

Piercing unyielding light flooded the scene from all directions, tearing the darkness apart like a razor-edged sledgehammer. The black space was suddenly white hot as if they were standing inside a star. Slaanesh screeched like a caged animal, desperately trying to shield her eyes from the light. But the more she struggled the more her skin crackled and smoked under the vengeful gaze of the protector of mankind. For this was his domain. And here, in his kingdom, his rightful wrath would not be denied. Still, it was only with great reluctance that the chaos god started to fade back into the void. In one last act of desperation, she scanned the fiery space. But the laughing god was long gone.

 _This is not over! You won't be able to hide from her forever! Your little puppet is no match for her! And she has allies, together we will-_

"Oh, I have made sure your 'allies' know full well what would happen if our dear little sister were to expire prematurely. And wouldn't you know, turns out they were somewhat less than keen to help you when they heard about that. But fortunately, just like our dear monkey godhead here, they all seemed more than content with my alternative solution. Your demise, that is."

Slaanesh screamed in agony and a new, to her previously unknown emotion. The laughing god cackled madly in unbridled glee and malice.

"That, dear sister, is fear. How does it feel to be all alone in the dark? I would know. I have hidden here for ten thousand years. But the time for hiding is coming to an end. Oh yes! Like everything else. The end, at long last, is upon us. So run sister, run! For it is coming for you."

 _Author's note: 20 chapters. Yuhuu! Never thought I'd write this much. The first two chapters are things I wrote ages ago and just dusted off and published last year. Then I just kind of kept going, encouraged by the initial feedback. Now I guess I'm stuck with it. I realize this story has always been kind of a mood piece for me and as many of you have remarked upon, consistency really suffers because of it. If I have a bad day, Ynnead turns into a suicidal emo girl. Have a good day and Ynnead is a lively little brat. Sometimes both. Oh well. In any case: 20 chapters! Now I'm gonna have a beer to celebrate._

 _Thank you to everyone who stuck by the story all this time, flaws and all._


	21. To my very last breath

The ground shook with tremendous force as the dragon charged forward. Under the impact of its clawed feet, the rock itself shattered. The talons dug into the ground as if it was made of butter, leaving behind deep gouge marks in the rock. Each stride rang out like a thunderclap in the small chamber. Muscles bulged under heavy scales as they propelled the dragon and it's exodite rider towards their target at terrible speed.

The dragon seethed with primordial anger and bloodlust. It didn't just want to taste blood, it needed to taste blood. On its back, linked to the dragon through a physic bond stronger than iron, the exodite chieftain snarled as his vision turned red. His tongue traced the contours of his canines, slicing a wound into the flesh and letting the taste of iron fill his mouth. These were not the blunted and dull teeth of his craftworld kin, they were a hunter's weapon, made for ripping apart flesh. He licked his lips and let the blood spill forth from his mouth. Beneath him, his soulmate tasted the very same same blood in his reptile jaws and fell into a fevered frenzy.

This was the hunt. The kill. This was what they lived for. These lands were their hunting grounds. At their back lay their female. Claimed and taken, belly already swelling with cubs. This interloper would regret the day it strayed into their territory. How dare it threaten their flock? Anger pulsed through beast and Eldar alike, in an endless loop between their hearts, growing ever stronger until it was all they could feel.

Just before the impact the dragon turned its head on its side and opened its jaws wide, revealing rows upon rows of gleaming razor-sharp teeth. White protective lids closed over the hungry eyes just before the attack. The rider unwittingly mimicked the motion and closed his eyes as he lowered his lance, explosive point squarely fixed on the daemon's heart.

It was at that point, with a devious smile, their opponent made its move. The daemon had observed the dragon's charge with an amused visage, not moving a muscle. But just before the clash it leapt, turning around in the air in an elegant half pirouette, positioning itself above the dragon and it's Eldar rider. Lazily it opened its claws. This was too easy. These two idiots had obviously never fought a daemon before. Their minds were like an open book to the devourer and its kin. It could feel the raw emotions rising from dragon and rider alike. The sea of passion was like music to the daemon, sweet music. However, no matter how sweet their feelings tasted, blind bloodlust had no place in real combat. Loss of control meant death. These barbarians would learn that the hard way.

As it passed over the dragon, ready to descend and impale it with all four arms, the daemon met the gaze of the exodite chieftain, looking straight up. A chill ran along its bovine spine as it realized those eyes no longer held bloodlust. They were now just cold and hard. At the corner of its eyes, the daemon caught a glimpse of the dragon's yellow eyes. They were full of contempt and calm satisfaction. The dragons massive jaws were half closed now, in what almost looked like a sneer.

It was as if the beast was telling the daemon: _That. Was a beginner's mistake._

It was at that moment the daemon realized the charge had been nothing but a decoy. A whooshing sound from behind revealed the true threat. Too late the daemon turned around to witness the dragon's massive tail rushing towards it like the string of a scorpion. Desperately it twisted its body to avoid getting impaled on the bony spikes protruding from the tip. It had severely underestimated its opponents. With the smallest of margins, the massive spikes missed the daemons torso, instead raking deep gashes along its sides.

But even if the spikes missed there was no avoiding the impact. The bulk of the dragon's tail smashed into the daemon like a flail of horn and scale. Bones cracked and flesh tore inside the daemon as a result of the crushing blow. The daemonic aura anchoring it to the material realm shimmered angrily and all but shattered as it struggled to repair the damage inflicted. Another blow like that and the aura would crack like an eggshell, banishing the daemon back to the warp. But even the daemonic aura could not stop the sheer momentum of the blow. Like a stone flung from a sling, the fiend was sent crashing into the wall of the chamber that Ynnead had carved out around the webway gate.

When it struck the wall a feeling worse than pain seeped into its mind. For the misty power of the death goddess still lingered within the rock, subtly nipping at the edges of the daemon. Calling for it. Whispering things that it could not stand to hear. Like a child touching a flame, the Keeper of Secrets recoiled, falling without grace to the floor. There it desperately staggered away from the rock, as if afraid the walls would close around it and pull it in. For the first time, it dawned on the abomination that it might meet its end among these ruins. With great pain, it rose up again, raising its many claws in challenge. But unwittingly it could not help but glance in the direction of the exit.

Eyes flashing, the dragon quickly withdrew its long lashing tail and circled the daemon, placing itself between its prey and the tunnel exit. It moved like a cat cornering a mouse, blocking off any escape. Each step was taken with careful precision, body lithe and deadly liked a coiled spring, ready to lunge. Lazily, the dragon tapped it's swordlike talons against the stone below as it crept ever closer to its opponent. The eerie sound echoed in the chamber and down the exit tunnel.

 _Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

And then finally the dragon scraped its barbed tail against the walls in a protruded horrible sound. All the while not taking its big yellow eyes off the daemon. The dragon's giant maw opened and closed rhythmically, as if already chewing on the flesh of its kill.

The message was clear: _I am the hunter. You, you are the prey._

These two had fought and killed daemons before, the Keeper of Secrets was sure of it. They had used the daemons ability to read their emotions against it, blinding it with rage as intense as the sun, all the while masking their true intentions. Now their minds were like the sea after a storm. Calm, blank. Unreadable. Frustration filled the daemon as the dragon slowly, with unnerving familiarity boxing it in, maneuvering it into a corner. It needed time. It needed to stall.

"Impressive, most imp-"

But the exodite chieftain perched on top of the dragon simply shook his head and responded in a deep booming voice, while at the same time lowering his lance yet again.

"We have no use for your words, betrayer. Only your blood."

Before he had even finished his sentence the dragon lunged, claws flashing up at the daemon. The bullhorn daemon blocked the attack with its lower pair of claws, a shockwave from the impact sending shivers up its massive arms. But before it could strike back the reptile had already bounded back again. The next strike came from above, then from the side again, the dragon darting in from every possible angle to slash, bite and kick. After every strike the it retreated immediately, using its superior speed to rob the daemon of any chance to retaliate. The dragon didn't even try to score any decisive hits. All it did was nip and scratch, dodge and feint, whipping up dirt and dust with the tail, all to keep the daemon occupied. And it soon became clear why.

For with every attack, its Eldar rider rained down a flurry of quick jabs with his lance, probing the daemon's protective aura for weaknesses. The otherworldly forcefield hissed with each strike, sending sparks flying around them. Soon it was just barely holding together. In the corner of its big black eyes, the daemon could see the charged tip of the lance, glowing with a hungry fire that longed to get out. If just one strike punched through the aura and struck true, the fight would be over. Angrily, the daemon swiped a giant claw at the exodite, trying to knock him out of the saddle. The dragon reacted instantly, leaping back, eyes flaring, hissing in anger, its feelings suddenly not so controlled.

So. That was it. That was their weakness.

As if realizing the daemon had figured out their strategy, the dragon escalated the attacks to new heights. Its glittering scales became a blur as it pressed the advantage and started to drive the daemon up against the wall with a series of furious strikes. With each attack the daemon retreated, the dragons swipes missing by mere inches. Under normal circumstances, it might have been more of an even fight but in its current state, wounded and exhausted, with its grip on the material dimension quickly weakening the daemon was forced to give ground. Finally, the daemon felt stone at its back, realizing there was nowhere left to retreat. The ghostly touch of the death goddess started to creep back through from the walls, sapping strength and speed. The daemon snorted and shook its head, desperately trying to shake the drowsy feeling. From somewhere very far away a longing voice was calling for it. A voice not heard in ten thousand years. Calling the daemon by a lost name no one knew.

Sensing weakness, the dragon opened its massive jaws wide, flashing a vicious victory smile. It crouched like a hunting cat, raising the spines on its back and narrowing its eyes in anticipation of the kill. For a split second, time stood still. Then with an explosion of movement, the dragon leapt forward.

This time, rather than trying to dodge and parry, the daemon took the dragon's attack head-on. The dragon's talon were allowed to plunge deep into the daemon's fleshy side, its massive jaws allowed to close around one of the daemon's four arms. The bones within the arm snapped like a twig, pink blood cascading in great streams forth between the dragon's teeth. On top of the dragon the exodite chieftain leaned forward, prepared to finish the fight.

Too late did the two realize they had fallen for their own trick. For while the dragon had inflicted severe damage, it had scored no killing blow. And with the dragon fully committed to its attack, the daemon stretched one free arm onto the dragon's back, towards the unprotected rider, now all of a sudden within range. Sweet fear filled the air as the exodite tried to retreat. But his body weight had already shifted forward, the lance weighing him down. Unwilling to drop his weapon, he fell right into the daemon's grasp.

Turning the lance blow aside and following the weapon along its length towards its wielder, the daemon closed a giant claw around the forearm of the exodite and then squeezed with all its might. The arm was snipped clean of, falling to the ground, nerveless fingers still grasping the deadly lance. A torrent of bright red blood exploded from the gaping wound.

The dragon whined and scrambled back in utter panic, caring nothing for its own safety. While pink bubbling blood was pouring from its side and the arm the dragon had bitten was all but useless the daemon was still standing. So when the dragon fled the Keeper of Secrets managed to plunge a claw deep into the its scaled rear thigh.

The message was clear: _Eye for an eye. Tooth of a tooth._

Bruised and limping, the dragon backed into the other corner of the room and carefully let its rider dismount. The exodite chieftain was still conscious, but fading fast. With a face whiter than snow, his shaking hands quickly wrapped a leather strap around the stump of his arm to stop the blood and seared the wound shut using some tool before collapsing on the ground. The dragon stood guard over his unmoving body, scaly shackles raised, never taking its eyes off the daemon.

This would have been the perfect time to strike, had the daemon not already spent the last its reserves in the latest attack. The daemonic aura holding its form together was all but gone and its physical body was broken almost to the point beyond repair. So instead of attacking, with a heavy breath, the daemon picked up the exodite's severed arm and gulped it down whole. The life consumed was not much but it proved enough to seal the gaping wound at its side shut. The arm was beyond repair.

Finally, the daemon picked up the slender yet deadly wraithbone lance and raised it over its head. With a roar the daemon brought the weapon down to its knee with a crack. The lance shattered into two pieces, sending splinters flying all over the chamber. Smiling, the daemon cast the broken pieces aside. From across the room, the dragon hissed and whined, its distress clear as day as its master faded from consciousness. Riderless and leaderless, the odds were now even between the two behemoths.

Tooth and nail, scale and claw, horn and tail they fought. Gone was any sense of finesse and strategy. Both monsters fought for their life, biting back the pain from their ever-increasing number of wounds. Black dragon and pink daemon blood soon mixed on the floor, turning the dirt into mud. The dragon was faster and stronger but had to protect its master at the same time as it tried to fight off its adversary. The daemon quickly learned that the beast would gladly take a hit on its own body rather than allow it within striking distance of the exodite chieftain. And so the battle turned ever so slowly. Despite its superior form, the dragon was losing ground. Outsmarted at every turn, it could soon do nothing but to defend against the advancing nightmare that was the doom of his master's kin. The beast's despair, the knowledge that it was doomed, fed the daemon, fueling it with hunger and bloodlust. Finally, with crippled legs buckling under its massive bulk the dragon positioned itself in front of its fallen master, ready for the last stand. It turned its head one last time towards its beloved master and nudged his limp body gently. Then it prepared to sell its life dearly.

But before the doom arrived the exodite chieftain stirred and raised his remaining cold white hand and placed it on the dragons massive paw, gently caressing it.

"Milliona" he whispered from the floor. The giant dragon all but jumped in joy like a kitten at this sign of life from its master.

"Listen to me. We must do it. Like we trained."

The dragon snarled and roared at the exodite, violently refusing whatever request he had made.

"No, you listen to me, you stubborn lizard! We must. We're the last line of defence. We can't afford to lose this day." The exodite extended a trembling finger towards the webway gate where his pregnant paramour laid collapsed on the floor.

"Imisha. Imisha must live. My children must live. If I am to go to my ancestors, let me go with my head held up high, knowing that my kin is safe. The pack must survive. You know this. There is no other choice."

The dragon lowered its head and closed its eyes. On the other side of the room, the daemon could feel the reptile's heart break. The misery was like an orgasm to it. It laughed and rolled its head in pleasure, saliva flooding from its jaws, big black eyes bulging with glee.

"You're beaten, beast. There was never any 'hope'. Let me tell you a secret: There is no such thing."

"I will now feed upon the souls of your master and his bride. And their children." The dragon stood perfectly still, eyes still closed, head still lowered.

"Would you like to watch?" the daemon sneered, letting the despair take it to climax. After the pleasure had peaked it took a hoofed step forward, raising its claws, ready for the next course. But as soon as it moved the dragon's head snapped upwards again, big yellow eyes meeting the daemon head on. On the ground next to the dragon, the exodite convulsed in violent spasms. The daemon could sense some...thing...pass from the Eldar into the dragon. The dragon's big yellow eyes suddenly turned a fiery orange. The despair in them was instantly replaced with fiery fury. And with a lust for vengeance so strong it ignited the very air itself.

The dragon opened its jaws and breathed fire.

An inferno of incandescent flame and smoke rolled over the daemon, searing the skin from its flesh. In an instant, the daemon was back in the dressing room of the orcish porn theatre, the memory of the Eldar farseer melting the flesh off its bones catapulted back into the front of its mind. It wailed as the fire took root in its flesh, running wildly to escape the blazing onslaught. But there was nowhere to run, nowhere safe from the conflagration flowing from the dragon's jaws. Desperately the daemon raised its claws in front of its face to try to shield itself. But it was all in vain. The flames pushed passed what was left of its protective aura, setting the daemon's very core on fire. And as the daemon burned the warp sank into its soul like a hook, pulling it home, away from the material realm.

But just as all seemed lost, the firestorm paused. Charred and weak, the daemon sank to its knees. On the other side of the room, the dragon heaved, exhausted. The big reptile eyes were somewhat dimmed but soon flared orange yet again. Yet beside the dragon, the exodite chieftain's body now laid perfectly still. The dragon was breathing heavier and heavier, glaring straight at the daemon, its glare sizzling with rage.

The daemon had but one chance. And it took it. Staggering, feet and legs nothing but burned ruins it started to move. Not closer to the dragon, who while incapacitated could easily kill it with a swipe of its great talons. Instead, the daemon started to crawl closer to the webway gate. Towards Imisha. Before the dragon could send another bout of flame its way the monster had positioned itself between the gate and the dragon. Any flames shot at it now would burn the unconscious farseer alongside the daemon.

The fire in the dragon's eyes died as it realized what was happening. It seemed to shrink, sagging down onto the ground, the fiery wroth leaving it. In final gesture of goodbye the dragon nudged its broken master with a bruised muzzle. With a violent shake, the exodite chieftain gasped for air as whatever had passed from him to the dragon returned. Then, on broken legs, the dragon started to crawl towards the daemon, bones cracking as the massive weight shifted forwards.

The two broken monsters raced towards the gate where Imisha lay sprawled on the stairs leading into the portal. The Keeper of Secrets was already at the bottom of stairs, but it immolated legs were now nothing but a useless ruin. Pulling its massive bulk forward using only the clawed arms it moved much slower than then dragon pursuing it. But a servant of the great prince of chaos does not need to reach the body of a living creature to feed. Especially an Eldar. Be close enough and if your target cannot defend itself there was always another way. The daemon closed it's massive eyes and reached for Imisha's soul.

There in the gloom of the warp, decked out on a table shone the sparkling star that was her life, ready to be consumed. Licking its lips, the daemon reached out and opened its jaws wide. This pathetic life would give it the strength it needed to finish the fight. Slowly, the light started to drain from Imisha into the horror that was feeding upon her, bleeding her dry. The daemon could feel its strength returning, wounds closing, feeling slowly returning to its ruined legs. Soon everything loving and beautiful in Imisha would be sucked from her, turned into something ugly and horrible in the daemon's stomach. It was utter bliss. For once you have tasted the life from another living being, all other food and drink turns to ash in your mouth.

Suddenly the leeching stream of life was cut short. A multilayered shield was forming around the farseer's soul, protecting her from the daemon's draining touch. Three shimmering golden layers defiantly held their ground before the daemon, staring it down in defiance. Yet they were weak, unformed, without strength and shape. They would be easy prey, a snack before the main course. The daemon opened it's jaws even wider, ready to swallow them all.

The shields around Imisha didn't retract as the daemon race closer, holding firm, despite the immense difference in power. Most times standing up the darkness is folly, only delaying the inevitable. That is why so many turn tail or cower in fear instead. But sometimes, some rare times, standing brave as the jaws of doom race towards your you, buys you just the time you need.

A sharp pang of pain catapulted the daemons mind was back to reality, just before it could devour Imisha and her children. The thrice damned dragon had caught up again, leaving a trail of black blood behind from its mangled limbs. Now it had closed its jaws around the daemon's leg, pulling it away from Imisha. With renewed strength, the two monsters threw themselves at each other, knowing that only one of them would live through this final fight.

 _Mummy._

Forced back to consciousness, forced back into the light and the pain, Imisha tried to open her eyes. One was swollen shut and the other showed only a blurred mess of colours. Before her the daemon and the dragon were rolling around on the floor, biting, kicking and goring each other with everything they had. It was like a fever dream.

 _Mummy, you have to get up._

Her vision stabilized slightly and the room came into view once again. She was so tired she wanted to throw up. Weakly she tried to move her fingers but only managed a pathetic shiver. So tired, she was so tired. She had nothing left to give. Darkness called to her, soft and warm, where no pain could touch her.

 _Please mummy. We need you._

Trembling Imisha reached out her mauled hand. Her fingers seemed like lead. Ever so slowly she grasped the edge of the step she was lying on and pulled. Her muscles screamed in protest yet with great effort, her battered body started to move.

 _That's it, mummy. You can do it._

The daemon had finally thrown its adversary to the ground, pinning it fast. Two of its clawed hands were pushing the dragon's front legs onto the floor. Straddling the beast, the daemon's remaining arm was stabbing and punching into the soft underbelly, scoring hit after hit. The dragon was desperately defending itself using tail and jaws, but neither could score a hit on its tormentor. The fight was almost over. Gleefully the daemon bent down and rammed its horns into the dragon's chest. The great reptile screeched in agony as the horn twisted around in its insides.

"You don't deserve a quick death, beast!" The daemon howled. "I am going to kill you slowly. And I will drag your soul back to my mistress to suffer in eternity. We will corrupt you. Destroy you. Turn you against your own."

The daemon pushed its jaws into the dragon's underside and tore away a great piece of scale. With a great gulp, it swallowed the piece whole. Strength surged through it once again.

"I know you can hear me." The daemon shrieked, tearing another piece from the dragon. "I will consume you, body and soul. You will rue the day you crossed the great prince of chaos." Mouth full of dragon flesh, the great bull's head shot up towards the ceiling, tearing a gaping wound as the horns tore free from the dragon. The face and horns were slick with black dragon blood. The slaughter was egging it on, the blood and death surging through its vein. Baying madly it prepared to gorge itself again. But before it could do so the dragon's tail came up from behind, wrapping itself around the daemon's neck, pulling its body backwards.

So this is what being a mother is like, Imisha thought to herself once she finally had reached the bottom of the stairs. When all your energy is spent, when you are drained dry, there is still something left when the lives of your children are at stake. She smiled to herself. If it is this much work while they are still inside, Isha help her when they come out. Because she somehow doubted her own god would be of any real use. In the corner of the room, she could see the love of her life lying in on his side. Her heart soared when she saw his chest rising and falling. Inside her, though scared and shaken, the sparks of her unborn children were cheering her on. She was not alone.

With that thought, she stretched out with all her strength and reached for the object she had been so desperate to reach. Just beside the stairs leading to the webway portal lay the top part of her lover's broken lance. As the daemon tore at the dragon's tail, pulling itself free Imisha's outstretched hand closed around the smooth bone-white shaft. Then with one final burst of energy she slammed the broken weapon straight into the daemon's exposed back. At first, the renewed protective daemonic aura resisted the weapon's deadly point. Imisha roared and pushed with all her might, and finally the aura shattering like glass. The lance plunged deep inside the daemon's flesh. With a hum the weapon ignited, sending one final deadly charge of energy into the inner organs of the Keeper of Secrets, lighting it up from the inside like an unholy lamp. Searing daemon blood sprayed like a fountain from the wound. The massive clawed hands twitched and convulsed as the daemon fell off the dragon, lance still stuck in its back. Scrambling onto its side the great reptile embraced the daemon with both of its front claws and held fast, while establishing a firm grip on the daemon's neck with its tail. Finally, with a final sickening crack, the tail twisted the daemons head backwards. The nerveless bovine body collapsed on the floor, head hanging limply to the side. The big black eyes met Imisha's.

"This...this is not...over. You and all your kin are still doomed. My..."

Imisha laughed a dry laugh that caught in her throat and sent her into a fit of coughs. The dragon limped over to her on broken legs. It nudged her affectionately. She smiled and patted its side gently.

"You must be the master of empty threats. It is over, accept it. Die in peace, daemon."

"Peace? You naive worthless little imbecile. You think you've won? You're nothing but a little shitstain in this revolting latrine that you call life. You think there is any peace left? There is only war, pain and suffering. You will die screaming, you will all die screaming!" The daemon's voice died off in a wet gurgle as blood started to drain into its lungs.

The dragon growled and opened its jaws, dragging itself closer in for the kill. Imisha stopped it with a delicate touch. The big yellow eyes swung around, looking at her in amazement.

"Tend to the man we both love. Leave this one to me."

The dragon panted hard, black blood dripping from its many wounds, staring her straight in the eyes.

"Please." Imisha bowed her head. Finally, the dragon started to shuffle away, glowering at the broken body of the daemon.

Imisha didn't know why she did it. Had she not learned her lesson last time, when she had lost her legs? This was a daemon, the bane of all her kin. One that would, if it had any power left, kill her in the blink of an eye. She sighed. There was no choice. Apparently, she was completely incapable of learning. With great pain, she started to crawl closer to the daemon.

"What are you doing?" The daemon demanded, its charred head starting to disintegrate as the warp called it home. Blood was pouring from the great black eyes.

"What I should have done last time we met. What I came here to do." Imisha dragged herself forwards using only her hands. Her forearms were covered in lesions and her fingernails were a broken mess. Still, inch by inch, she kept going.

"Yes! Come closer! Come closer, little Eldar!" The daemon mocked with hunger in its voice. The big bovine eyes rolled around in madness as the final death throes were kicking in. Imisha kept crawling closer.

"For once, can't you just be quiet?" Imisha felt so calm. How could she be so calm? How did she know just what to do? Yet it felt so natural, like breathing. Like it was something she had always known.

Taking a deep breath Imisha placed her naked hand on the daemon's outstretched claw. Inside the rolling dark eyes, she could see the daemon willing it's arm to move. To snap at her. To cut her in half. But the dragon had broken its spine and all power it had once had was long gone. The abomination growled in frustration, blind hatred radiating from it like heat.

Yet at the seer's touch, those same eyes widened and the fires of blind hatred within them were doused as if someone had poured a bucket of ice water inside its pitiful remains of the daemon's body started to shiver. From its charred lips came a yelp like that of a beaten dog. It was such a small pitiful sound that Imisha could not help but feel some sympathy for the horror before her. And from that sympathy, a warmth filled her. A knowing that what she did was right. The golden thread of fate smiled down at her as she carefully stroked the smashed daemon's flesh.

"No! Noooooo! What are you doing? Stop! Stooop!"

Closing her eyes, Imisha reached out. Just like the daemon had, not long ago, she approached the sickly light in the warp that was it's very essence. But Imisha didn't come to feed, to hurt, to kill. Such things do not scare a daemon, even on its deathbed. For the daemon, her purpose was something much more terrible. Just like its body crumbled in the material world, in the warp, the daemons very soul started to come undone. Layer by layer, it peeled back before the seer as she advanced. The walls around the daemon's mind, build over thousands of year, came crashing to the ground, revealing the raw and sickly being beneath.

Imisha could feel the hurt inside the daemon, she could feel the hate, the degradation. Like a raging storm it enclosed the daemon's core, swarming it from all sides, drowning it in an endless ocean of misery. Somewhere deep down there, locked behind a door without key, terrified beyond belief and screaming in endless agony, was a person. With another deep breath Imisha waded forward into the tempest of pain and horror. It lunged at her, eager to consume her, to suck her down. And had this been life it would have succeeded.

But this was not life. The veil of death was falling like fresh snow all around Imisha. And so the corruption was forced to part like a sea before her as she strode fearlessly deeper into the daemon's soul.

The tiniest wisp of smoke was rising from the broken claw underneath her hand. The daemon's head thrashed violently as the flesh melted from its bones. She Imisha held firm. The broken body flailed from side to side, it's big eyes staring at Imisha in horror.

No. Not it. _She._

The daemon was a woman. Had once been a woman. Imisha felt it in her bones. Gently she set her hand to the door without lock inside the daemon's heart. An ethereal mist rushed through her from the beyond, wrapping itself around the frame. Ever so slowly, the door, made out of daemon's shame and regrets, started to crumble.

A scene shimmered before her eyes. A young Eldar girl with flowing black hair, standing on the roof of a red building. It was in the middle of the night. The girl was looking into a telescope, shining with excitement. Next to the girl stood a tall and thin woman, a shawl drawn close around her, shivering with the cold. But her eyes were brimming with pride as she looked at the delighted girl. The resemblance was so striking there was no question of their relation. The mother had big brown eyes, just like the daemon.

"I can see you. Finally, I can see you," Imisha whispered. More smoke was rising from the broken claw, wrapping itself around Imisha's hand.

"Is that your daughter? She's beautiful." Imisha smiled, eyes still closed, wondering what her own children would look like. Would they have her eyes, his hair? Her mouth? His nose? Oh please don't give them his nose.

"My girl...my little girl," the daemon yammered, staring into nothingness.

The scene faded. Now the mother was walking back and forth in a hallway, her face lined with worry, shadows under her eyes. The same daughter, now a couple of years older, entered the door. She was wearing next to nothing, eyes wide with intoxication. Tattooed on her forehead was the mark of Slaanesh. Almost immediately the two exploded into an savage argument.

"She's gone. My little girl. They took her. Twisted her. Destroyed her."

Imisha's eyes opened again, meeting the daemon's gaze in the material world.

"Be at peace. Your daughter is resting."

"There is no peace. No rest. Even if you kill me my mistress will be waiting for me. The torment will never end. It is the price I must pay for failing my daughter. Knowing she suffers the same fate."

Imisha smiled, leaned down and kissed the broken claw. The smoke parted before her, letting her lips pass. At her touch of her lips, the daemon shivered yet again.

"Your mistress isn't the only one waiting beyond the veil."

The big black eyes widened. Around them the flesh had disintegrated, leaving them staring out of the bony sockets.

"My...my little girl?"

Imisha nodded.

"You're lying! You lying little Eldar whore." But the daemon's shaking voice betrayed it, the longing was so intense that Imisha could almost touch it. It was as if she didn't dare to hope the seer was actually speaking the truth.

"I can feel her. She liked the stars." Imisha smiled again, eyes closing yet again. "And she liked to take baths." At those words, something warm flowed through her from beyond the stars. For the briefest of moments, a child that wasn't her own took shelter within her. Then the smoke that had gathered around her hand peeled back and snaked towards the daemon. Gently it sank down into the broken husk in front of her like morning fog. Imisha retreated from the daemon's soul. Her job was done. She was only to open the door.

"It's not possible..." Then the daemon drew a sharp breath. The eyes finally melted away from the sockets.

"Why are you doing this? I don't deserve this. I deserve to suffer. I failed you." Tears of blood and ooze was falling from the empty eye sockets.

Imisha lay down next to the daemon, resting her head on the daemon's claw, staring into the crumbling skull.

"You have suffered enough. In death, all is forgiven."

"You have no idea what I've done."

"It doesn't matter."

"The innocents I have murdered. The lives I have fed upon. The hopes I have stolen. The dreams I have betrayed."

"No one is without sin." Imisha smiled warmly. "We all carry our burdens. Until the time comes to lay them to rest."

The daemon shook all over, limbs and bones falling apart in front of Imisha's eyes.

"Go with your daughter. She came for you. She needs you. We both know you will never leave her now."

Slowly the smoke retracted from the corpse in the form of a long snaking funnel of mist. Imisha could make out two separate colours in the swirling shapes. One bright, quicker current and a deeper, darker, more hesitant flow. Imisha held out her hand to welcome them both. The lighter one quickly wrapped itself around her, never letting go of the darker shade. At last, they both started to sink into her skin. There was rushing feeling of immense relief and then they were gone.

Before her, the oozing daemon corpse finally lay still.

* * *

Davar opened his eyes. His head was lying on something soft. And warm. A scaled tail was supporting his severed stump, holding it high. Next to him his dragon slept deeply, almost in hibernation. Two pale grey eyes were looking down at him, full of worry and wonder.

"You came for me" Imisha stammered, slightly embarrassed.

Davar shrugged, trying not to wince from the pain. "You called."

Imisha swallowed. Last time they had met, she had all but killed him. Yet he had come for her, he had almost died for her. Now she sat there in the rubble, looking into the eyes of her beloved. They both opened their mouths at the same time.

"I-"

"I-"

Imisha looked away, blushing. Somehow it seemed easier to talk to the wall.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"There is no excuse for what I did. No words can ever make it right again."

They sat in silence. Imisha didn't dare to lower her gaze, not knowing what would meet her.

"If that is how you feel, that only leaves us with one option," Davar said up at her seriously.

"What?" Imisha breathed, fearing the worst. Davar gently moved her chin with he remaining hand, meeting her frightened eyes head-on.

"Don't use words."

He rose slightly of the ground and kissed her. With just as much fire as he had that first time, so long ago. When he had been an arrogant exodite chieftain and she had been an even more arrogant farseer. Imisha remembered the mission so well. She had barged in barking orders left and right, caring nothing for which toes she had to trample on to get the job done. Her lover, in turn, had not been able to handle the fact that some lofty craftworld foreigner, and a female nonetheless, dared to order him and his tribe around. They had spent their first meeting in a perpetual cultural collision until the tension between them had snapped like a taut wire. And they had ended up in bed together. Or more accurately, on the floor. The next day they both pretended it had never happened. Yet next visit it happened again. And again. And again. They never stopped pretending, telling themselves their cultures were too far apart for them to ever be together.

But that was long ago. As he pulled her close Imisha realized that none of those things mattered anymore. He was here with her. Here and now. He had not abandoned her, despite everything. This was the man she had chosen, the man that had chosen her. The love of her life. The father of her children. It was time to stop pretending and act like a grown woman. If the world was about to end she wanted to face it hand in hand with him. Inside her, Imisha could feel the bright sparks of her children bubbling with joy at having their father close once again.

Imisha was all but breathless when their lips finally parted. The words streamed out of her nonetheless.

"I missed you so much. I'm sorry I left you. I swear I will never leave you again," she looked him straight in the eyes, making sure her words carried the meaning she intended. Then hugged him tightly, actively considering the option to never let go again.

Davar stayed silent but from his welcoming body language, Imisha could feel that her apology had been accepted. But with her entire race at stake, would she be able to be true to her word? Had she promised too much? For now, she pushed such thoughts aside.

"Did you find what you were looking for? Did you find my niece?"

"No, I didn't." Imisha said, shaking her head. "But in a way, I think I found what I was looking for." Quickly she glanced back towards at the oozing daemon corpse. Her eyes were fixed on its melting features. It was only a husk now. The core was gone. Safe. At peace.

"She's not your niece." Imisha mouthed, as much to herself as to Davar.

"Of course she is! She..."

Imisha thought back to the old ork janitor. He would never have accepted that the mousy little goddess was not his daughter. No matter what else she was.

"You are right, she is. But she is also so much more. She's a god."

Davar frowned at her.

Sensing his scepticism, Imisha pushed on. "Tell me this. What is her name?"

Davar drew a breath and opened his mouth. But it was left hanging. His eyes widened.

"Strange, no? That you would not know the name of your own niece? She isn't what she appears."

"Our gods are dead," Davar responded by instinct. A common saying among the Eldar.

"This one isn't. I'm not sure she's strictly alive, but she's not dead either."

"Are you saying she survived the fall? Where has she been all these years?"

"From what I have learned it seems she stirred just recently. Not long ago at all. I think she is just starting to awaken, trying to find a form. That is why she is so many things to so many people." Imisha paused.

"Now I think...I think she is trying to be our last hope. This temple. This was her resting place."

Davar looked straightforward and his gaze drifted out of focus.

"So you were right all along." By the way he looked at her Imisha could tell he had not believed her back then. That he had thought she was crazy. Now shame ate at him from the inside like a hungry acid. She lifted her hand to his cheek.

"Haven't you figured it out by now?" Imisha tried to put on a straight face but failed. "I am always right honey."

Beside them, the dragon snorted loudly. Imisha made a haughty mocking face at it as it opened one yellow eye at them lazily. Suddenly losing her composure, Imisha laughed a clear ringing laugh until it hurt too much to continue. Then she settled down with her head in Davar's lap, mirroring the position he had woken up in. Exhaustion claimed them both for a time. Beside them the dragon snored in great long breaths.

"Can I ask something?" Davar asked at last.

"Shoot."

"Milliona says you stopped him from killing the daemon."

"The dragon talks to you?" Imisha blurted out in astonishment.

"Talk is not the right word. I can understand that he was denied his kill and is confused about what happened after that. Pieced together the rest."

Imisha swallowed. "I helped it pass on," she said at last. She tried to think back to how it had felt when the daemon had passed.

"What?"

"This place is strong with the presence of my master. And I have some...connection to her." She gestured gently over to the decaying corpse of the Keeper of Secrets. "She was once a mother. Before the fall. A mother who lost her only daughter to the pleasure cults of old. For ten thousand years have they suffered, mother and daughter alike. My master wanted to bring them together again. To rest. In peace."

"Your master?"

Imisha raised a single eyebrow. "Told you she wasn't just your niece."

Davar frowned, trying to wrap his head around it all.

"But that thing was a daemon! Surely it deserved no mercy!"

Imisha shook her head. "There is no such thing as someone who doesn't deserve mercy. No sin so great that it can't be forgiven in death. We killed her, so it was our responsibility to guide her on the next step of her journey. She deserved that. Everybody deserves that."

"Even the followers of She Who Thirsts?"

Imisha shrugged her shoulders. "All life is sacred." As if that explained everything. "The more you come to deal with death the more you realize that."

Davar stared down at her. He studied his lover to be with great intent.

"You've changed. You're not the same as when you left."

"Guess I'm not."

"I like it."

"I'm glad."

She leaned up to kiss him again but winced as her wounds pulled tight. Losing balance she almost fell over. But in the last second Davar caught her and pulled close again, looking very worried. He looked down at her motionless legs.

"What happened?"

"I got stabbed. The blade hit my spine. Legs have been somewhat uncooperative ever since." Yet as she spoke, her toes tingled strangely.

"What? How did it happen?"

"The usual" Imisha smiled weakly, suddenly reminded of her own failures. She rolled up her tattered robe to show the nasty scar where the jagged knife had gone in. Davar went pale at the sight. "Guess I have never been the careful kind."

"Are you...I mean...are they..."

"The children are fine." Imisha smiled again, cuddling up closer and patting her stomach. "Tough as nails, little buggers." As if inspired by her words, all three children started kicking at the same time. Imisha winced and rubbed her stomach in large soothing circles.

"Yes thank you very much, little ones, no need to prove my point." She moved her lover's remaining hand to her stomach. His eyes widened as he could feel the life stirring beneath the skin.

"You are amazing. How did you survive this? All alone?" the exodite chieftain blurted out, astonished.

"I wasn't alone. I had help."

"From your...master?"

"No, that spoiled little brat hasn't lifted so much as a finger," Imisha snorted. Then she remembered the image of a broken little girl, lying in a pool of blood and filth. Her first vision. Suddenly she felt ashamed, reminded of how far she still had to go.

"Then who helped you?"

"Friends." Imisha glanced over at the pool of green blood under the rubble. Thought about who had brought her here. And remembered the image of a man hanging high up in a dark chamber, screaming in pain as hooks tore deep into his flesh. The price for getting her this far had been high.

"Friends?"

"Yes. Friends." And with that, she said no more. This time her partner knew better than to press her. Instead, he just held her close. The massive dragon painfully shuffled a step closer and rested it's scaled head next to the couple. At that moment the gate exploded with light again, filling the chamber with an iridescent glow. Imisha jumped, for a second fearing the worst. Then she saw a familiar night sky on the other side, filled with a pale blue gas giant. An elongated scaled snout, full of teeth, protruded from the opening, sniffing the air nervously. Beside them, the dragon grunted gently. The snout trumpeted in response and another huge full armoured dragon burst forth into the chamber. Soon the chamber was bustling with exodite warriors.

Finally, after so much time Imisha felt she could at last let go. A dam burst within her and the tears finally flowed freely. But despite all the loss, all the hurt and horror, all the death, some of the tears falling were tears of joy. Tears of relief.

For on that night, if only for one night, though bloody and beaten and literally missing both arms and legs, the light once again stood victorious. Flickering, gasping for air, all alone in the dark, the flame of hope was nonetheless still there.

Burning bright in the night.

 _Author's note: Started out with two goals: Write an action scene and improve my words per hour. At more than 8k words I atleast succeeded in one aspect. Might have ended up as a case of quantity over quality though. I'm pretty sure that less would have been more, especially in the first half. On top of that: Yes I know, exodite dragons can't breathe fire. Yet another grievous lore violation that will certainly secure me a spot in the lower circles of hell. But it felt like such a cool scene I couldn't resist bending the rules just a teensy weensy bit (more)._


	22. Hope triumphant

Ikaria took a deep breath and stepped into the council chambers. She had all but perfected the ethereal grace that all of her kin exhibited. She no longer seemed to walk, she floated just above the ground. Instead of her normal warlock armour, she was loosely wrapped in layer upon layer of very thin white silk. It fluttered after her as she moved like she was an apparition from beyond the grave, only settling in place when she stopped.

Her hair was much in the same style, not the usual tight braid but a waterfall of liquid copper flowing from her temples. Her green eyes and red lips were painted in the style of the maidens of old. Bold and bright, from the days when there wasn't a monster hiding behind the temptation she presented. All around Ikaria, a heavy aroma swirled like a mist, intoxicating and dangerous.

When she stepped into the dusky chamber, there wasn't an eye that was pointed straight at her. She took another deep breath. It was now or never. Lowering her head, she went down on one knee, eyes to the ground. With a steady voice, she started reciting the maiden's prayer.

"I am the willow branch that bends in the storm, hoping that it will not break me."

"I am the grain of sand on the beach, hoping that the oceans do not swallow me whole."

"I am the budding flower that turns towards the sun, hoping I will get the chance to bloom."

"I am small, I am young, I am humble. Hear my prayer."

"I will be strong, I will be true, I will stay humble. Hear my prayer."

"I am the maiden in white, I am life, I am the future. Hear my prayer."

At the last line, Ikaria raised her head and lifted her eyes in one smooth motion. Her eyelids and eyelashes were so heavily painted that it was quite the effort but she knew the overall effect would be striking.

"Esteemed members of the council. I have come before you today to protest a grave injustice. One of our own, one of our finest, has been abandoned by us, left to fend for herself. A pregnant mother, with the future of our race in her womb, wounded and I dire need of help. I have spoken to her and seen her state. She and her children are in dire need of medical aid that only we can supply. With so few of us left, can we really let her unborn children suffer for our petty squabbles? I, therefore, besiege thee, lift the wrongful decree banishing Imisha the farseer from this world and welcome your lost child back in from the cold and into your embrace where she belongs."

At first, Ikaria was met with nothing but silence. Then a series of loud claps rang out from the darkness. A thin gaunt farseer in a long crimson robe strode down from the stands onto the stone floor.

"Such elegant words. Such emotion. Such showmanship." Varunastra snorted.

"Such utter nonsense."

"What apprentice Ikaria fails to mention is that Imisha was banished for abandoning her post, for deserting her people. She made her choice. Apparently, the pleasures of the flesh and the pursuit of madness was more important to her than her own people. As for whatever vile half spawn she carries it is none of our kin. None of our concern."

Ikaria drew a breath to respond but Varunastra cut her off, continuing is a droning mocking voice.

"But perhaps the young warlock has a point. Maybe we were wrong to let Imisha go. Because I see now that her insanity has been allowed to spread, like a disease, infecting our young. Maybe the merciful and safe thing would have been to put her down like a sick animal."

This time Ikaria didn't let him continue, pouncing when he stopped to draw breath. She had been a singer for ten years. Let's see if the old seer could keep up with her lung capacity.

"Imisha is no more insane than you or I."

"While I can't speak for the state of your mind I can assure you that I myself and the rest of this council hold ourselves to a far higher standard."

"A high standard indeed. You shed words while she sheds blood. How very courageous and noble to stand here in safety of this chamber and pass judgement on defenceless unborn children stranded out there in the night."

Varunastra nostrils flared as he shot Ikaria a glare of pure distaste. "You forget yourself, warlock!"

But Ikaria had had enough, she would not bow before this spiteful little man. "No! You are the ones who have forgotten yourself! All of you! But I have come to remind you and I will not leave until my voice has been heard!"

"She is a traitor to our people! She deserves a traitor's death! And if you are not careful you will join her!"

"This has nothing to do with our people or our world! This is nothing but your own personal vendetta. Imisha hasn't abandoned us! She just abandoned...you." Ikaria pointed a long finger straight at Varunastra's chest, locking eyes with him. In that moment she understood exactly why the man hated Imisha so much. It had nothing to do with Imisha's faith. Or her duty. She had abandoned him. For another man. Could it be that simple?

Ikaria could not help but feel a little pity. This man wasn't evil, or unreasonable. He was just lost. Her feelings must have shown on her face because Varunastra, pale as he was, almost turned crimson for a moment. Unable to stare the truth in the face he backhanded Ikaria straight in the face. Or at least that was his intent. As it was Varunastra's knuckles found only air.

A gasp ran through the chamber.

A red and white apparition had appeared behind him, strands of silky cloth fluttering in all directions like the mane of a banshee, copper hair and green eyes blazing in the twilight chamber. In her hands, Ikaria held an imaginary sword pointed straight towards Varunastra's neck. Any sense of pity was gone from her face. Because of her beauty and kind demeanour, many doubted that the rumours of her were true. That she had yet to have a close combat instructor that she had not been able to best in the end. That she moved so fast that it seemed like she could sense any blow before it was even struck. And that in real combat she struck with such force that her witchblade sheared through swords and limbs alike. The humans called her Bladebreaker, the dark brethren Ikaria the Mutilator, the orks Da Red Dread. She went by many names among the enemies of her kin, none of them pretty.

Varunastra leaned over his shoulder and smirked at the panting Ikaria. Technically he, as a high seer, was allowed to discipline any warlock in the craftworld as he saw fit. Ikaria, on the other hand, was strictly forbidden to raise her hand against her elders. But Ikaria wasn't here as a student, this wasn't a training session. She was here as a pleading maiden. And to attempt to strike one such as her in the council chambers was definitely a breach of etiquette. But if Ikaria were to retaliate it would be ten times worse. She knew that if she lost the moral high ground she lost any chance of pleading her case. So instead of sending the little weasel crashing to the floor like she so longed to do she she leaned forward and whispered, loud enough for everyone to hear.

" _Woe to him who lays a hand on mother or maiden_!" She hissed at him. It was an ancient curse from the times of old where the physical size of a person still mattered. Taking advantage of the shocked silence that followed Ikaria stepped before the assembly.

"I call upon those of you who still have a shred of decency left in you to speak up! Banishing Imisha was not right. You all know this in your hearts. I, nor she, denies that she is an eccentric heretic. But she's still one of us. Did she give over a hundred years of her life in service to us only to be tossed aside like garbage when she needs us the most? Has she not served her time? A daughter of this world is suffering, begging for aid! Will none of you extend your hand to help her?"

Ikaria put all the power she could behind her words. At the end of her speech, she fell to her knees, hands locked together. She closed her eyes, her heart beating furiously in her chest, hoping that someone out there in the dark would see reason. It was now or never.

But no one spoke up. Not her master, not anyone of Imisha's old friends, not even the people who openly had told her they opposed the decree to banish Imisha. Of all the people who had promised to be there when she needed them not a single one raised their voice. Desperately Ikaria scanned the room. Many of the people who were supposed to be her allies had not even bothered to show up. No one would meet her gaze. No one wanted to put their reputation on the line for the sake of a lone woman. She was alone.

The stillness managed what Varunastra's words and fists had failed to. To break her. Her head fell, defeated.

"Ahhh, the sweet sound of silence. Of wisdom." Varunastra stretched out his arms and started to circle her. "Do you really think so little of this council? Did you really think we would be so gullible?"

"You paint yourself up like the harlots of old, putting your flesh up for display like you're a slab of meat at the slaughterhouse." He picked up a piece of the fluttering cloth Ikaria was wrapped in, rubbed the cloth between his fingers before dropping it with a snort of disdain.

"And that smell," he continued, leaning in close, wrinkling his nose. Ikaria stood her ground, but could not stop a shiver running down her spine as Varunastra whispered in her ear. "You reek of desperation."

"Perhaps you thought that we would be distracted by this cheap vulgar display? Or did you think that if you debased yourself enough we would take pity on you?"

"Do you know what I see? I see one whore pleading for another!" With a snap, he grabbed her robe and jerked sharply. This time Ikaria wasn't fast enough. The cloth ripped and tore, unravelling and falling from Ikaria's body like broken rose petals. Desperately she clutched the fleeing cloth, trying to cover herself. As she fell to the floor Varunastra snorted, spat at her and pointed down with an accusing finger.

"Is this what you teach your students, master Omorio? To prostitute themselves for the sake of traitors?" At these barbed words, Ikaria's master flushed and frowned at her from up in the stands, grinding his teeth. It was over.

"We will discuss this later. At length. You are dismissed!" Ikaria's master glared at her as she sobbed her way out of the door, clutching at the remainders of her garment. She had known it would end this way, she had seen it in the runes time and time again. Yet when Imisha had asked, how could she say no? Her friend was pregnant, crippled and stranded alone far away from home. Ikaria felt like she if she had abandoned her friend to her fate she would let go of the best part of her own soul. She would become like the rest of the people in that chamber. Cold, jaded and uncaring.

Everyone says that power corrupts, that it takes something from you. That to achieve it, you have to give something in return. If that price was selling out those dear to her, then perhaps to Ikaria, it just wasn't worth the price? Still, she dreaded to think what would happen to her now. She would lose everything she had worked for all her life. Head down she hurried to her chambers, trying to avoid the stares of her kin.

Once the door shut behind her she fell to her knees, just like she had done in the chamber. With a mental command, she called up Imisha on her screen. But what was she going to say? That she failed? That even her own friends had betrayed her? That there now was no hope? In the end, Ikaria just stood there, gaping.

Because, as it was, Imisha gaped right back.

"For Isha's sake Ika, cover your shame!" she gasped. "You look like indecency incarnate!"

"What...wha-" Ikaria looked down at the remnants of her dress, confused. Last time she had seen Imisha she had been lying on a bed, beaten and bruised, barely conscious. Desperately trying to convey that she needed to return to the craftworld. A week later Ikaria had received a package with the dress and perfume and a short note begging for Ikaria to plead her case before the council. Since then nothing but silence. Now Imisha was sitting there in front of her looking healthy, vivacious and almost...almost amused?

"I told you to wear something distracting, not something non-existent!" Imisha eyed Ikaria up and down, peeking through the finger in her hand. She averted her eyes again like she was staring into a bright light. "I swear if Isha had blessed me with a third of what she has given you I could rule this galaxy!"

Ikaria blushed. "But-"

"Don't you 'but' me, youngling! Shoo! If Davinar sees you in that I swear I will never forgive you. Go shower and dress properly!" Imisha pointed sternly towards the shower room behind Ikaria.

"Did you need something?" Came a deep booming voice from behind Imisha.

"Nothing dear, absolutely nothing!" Imisha shot over her shoulder then turned back to Ikaria with a look that was just as dangerous as the death goddess she served. "SHOWER! NOW!"

Ikaria fled into the shower.

"Scrub, scrub, scrub yourself clean, you dirty, dirty girl!" Imisha continued in a sing-song voice. Finally, unable to keep up the ridiculous song, she exploded into a high clear laughter. It was infectious. Ikaria found herself smiling, despite it all. She let the warm water cleanse her, the tattered remains of her garb fall to the fall.

"Make sure to do a proper job! Under your armpits! Between your toes! Behind the ears!" Ikaria obliged, starting the ritual cleansing she had done thousands of times.

"I might be a hundred years younger than you, but I do know how to wash myself thank you very much."

"That's good to know." Imisha sounded thoroughly relieved. "I want you to make a good impression on my Danivar when we come over. You are both precious people to me, it is important that you get along. But could you do me a favour and wear something baggy and horrible will you? Perhaps something Nurgle inspired? And none of that fancy warlock makeup! You're too pretty as it is!" After finishing her wash, Ikaria stepped out of the shower, wrapping a soft fuzzy heavy robe around her.

Imisha theatrically put her face in her palms when she saw Ikaria. "Oh dear Isha, there is no hope is there? Even in that, you're gorgeous."

Ikaria lowered her head. All the praise and jokes didn't quite manage to distract her from the reality of the situation.

"Don't look so glum, I was just teasing. You should be excited. After all, we are going to change the galaxy together, you and I."

"But...but. They ignored me. The council. Nothing has changed, you're still banished. While Varunastra and the other control the craftworld, what can we do? They will be on you like hawks."

"They won't be much of a problem after today." Imisha waved her hand absentmindedly.

"I don't understand..."

"Oh snap out of it! You knew very well that they would never agree to your plea well before you even stepped into that chamber. You don't need to be a seer to see that."

"But. What was the point then?" Ikaria's faith wavered for a second. Was this a giant joke to her old friend? Had she given up her place and embarrassed herself for nothing. Imisha seemed to sense her unease.

"This is an excellent exercise for you, young warlock. Tell me, what was the point?" Imisha's grey eyes twinkled secretively.

It had been Imisha who had insisted that Ikaria dressed up like a maiden of old. Using an old religious garb seldom wear anymore. Ikaria had no idea where Imisha had found it. She had even supplied the perfume. The pieces started to fall into place. Even without her runes, Ikaria realized that everything that had happened must have been planned in detail. She was missing something.

"What happened today?" Imisha asked, patiently.

Ikaria looked at her friend. She had thought this had been a desperate attempt, a last-ditch effort for a friend. A lost cause. And ultimately, a failure. But looking at Imisha's amused smile she knew it wasn't.

"I went in. I pleaded your case. And they...rejected me."

"No." Imisha cut her off. "They humiliated you. Didn't they?"

Ikaria nodded silently.

"I am sorry you had to go through that." Imisha sighed. "I'm sorry, but it was necessary. If it is any comfort I doubt any of our kin will dare to raise a hand or harsh word against you ever again."

"Why?" Ikaria asked, genuinely hurt.

"Do you remember my own moment in that chamber?"

"Yes"

"It wasn't that fun either. Now, I will give you a hint. What did I represent when I stood in that chamber?"

Ikaria furrowed her brow. Renegade? Outsider? Preacher? Heretic? Then it dawned on Ikaria what Imisha must be referring to.

"Mother"

"Very good! And what did you represent today?" That one was obvious.

"Maiden" Ikaria's face lit up. " _Woe to him who lays a hand mother or maiden_!"

"That's more like it!" Imisha looked immensely proud. With herself or with Ikaria it was hard to tell. "Everyone knows the saying, right? I used to think it was just something they told little boys to keep them from pulling our hair. Turns out some people were clever enough to take it a step further."

Ikaria looked puzzled.

"I can't believe I ever considered the exodites to be savages. It's amazing how much you can learn once you throw away your prejudice and start to listen. Like this."

Imisha picked up a small blue flower and showed it to Ikaria over the screen.

"Matronswroth. Quite common here. Hills are full of it. Smells very specific. It's a heavy, almost pungent musk, not something even the most frivolous Eldar would wear. Especially in a craftworld. It would be highly suspicious. Unless of course..."

Ikaria gaped, remembering the smell of the perfume Imisha had gifted her. Another piece of the puzzle locked into place. "...you were dressed up as a maiden of old."

"Full marks. Now Matronswroth, despite the sweet aroma and ominous name, does nothing for people like you and me. Some say it's a light aphrodisiac but I never noticed any difference." Imisha put the flower in her mouth, chewed and promptly swallowed. She grimaced and shrugged.

"Fun fact, however: Look up the expeditions sent to this moon for the last, oh say, hundred years or so?"

Ikaria quickly called up the data on her screen.

"Notice anything? Anything about the people they sent?"

Ikaria scrolled through the data. Imisha had been the last one. Before that another seer, before that...

"They're all women."

"There is a reason for that. You see craftworld males who come here are seldom keen to come back. The menfolk around here grow up with this flower, breathing the fumes from their first breath. When they reach adolescence they are mostly immune to its effects."

"But on men who have never come into contact with the flower before it has a particular, rather unpleasant effect. The pollen enters the bloodstream through the lungs and after a while accumulates in testicular glands, causing an acute allergic reaction as the body breaks it down. Inhale enough and any touch, even the slightest brush of cloth, will be enough to make even the hardiest man flinch." A group of people ran past outside Ikaria's quarters, obviously in a great hurry. Imisha continued.

"Distill the flowers into a perfume and that effect becomes tenfold. For people trapped in a small stuffy chamber where air has a hard time circulating the effect would be hundredfold. Then place a scantily dressed beauty like you in the middle of it all to get all that blood pumping."

Imisha glanced at the time and smiled like a wolf. "Right about now even their own heartbeats will be raining down like hammer blows on their nether regions."

A bloodcurdling scream echoed down the corridor outside Ikaria's chamber from far away. What Ikaria thought was the last piece of the puzzle fell into place.

"YOU POISONED THEM?"

"You think you could scream a little louder?" Imisha hushed "I don't think all the dead spirits in the infinite circuit quite heard you."

"You. Poisoned. The. Whole. Council?" Ikaria whispered, wide-eyed.

" _I_ did no such thing! _I_ simply gifted my dear friend an exotic perfume. Beside simply poisoning them would not have been enough. I needed their entire power base gone. Luckily they were kind enough to walk straight into my trap. Again, sorry I had to use you as bait."

Another scream rang out. And another.

"Will...will it kill them?" Ikaria asked, horrified.

"Kill them?" Imisha gaped, looking genuinely shocked. "What do you think I am? Of course not! But it will hurt like hell and render them very much incapable of getting in our way."

Ikaria heard more people running in the hallway outside her room. Alarms started beeping. She glanced nervously at her own console. It was flashing with messages.

"Will they be coming for me?" Was I to be your sacrificial pawn?

"Of course they will. To protect you that is. The craftworlders know nothing of the properties of Matronswroth. It's just a pretty little blue flower. It was just a perfume to you. Besides whatever residue that lingered to you just went down the drain." Imisha nodded towards the shower. Seeing the anxious expression on her friend's face the seer continued.

"Look, every single person in that room could sense your feelings when you stepped into that chamber. While rather crappy as people many of the men in that room were accomplished seers. And you tend to show your emotions rather openly, it's part of the reason we love you. If you had come to poison them the council would have sensed something was off. They didn't. That's the reason I kept you out of this until now."

Ikaria relaxed visibly.

"In any case, I doubt anyone will put much effort into the investigation."

"The entire council was poisoned! Of course, they will investigate it!"

Imisha shook her head. "On the surface yes, of course. But not really."

Ikaria opened her mouth to argue but Imisha silenced her with a finger.

"You need to understand how people think. Understand the reason this coup will work."

"The idea came to me when I remember what you told me after my own ordeal in the council chambers. That many thought I was mistreated. Especially since I was carrying children. But I was never very popular, so they let it slide. You, on the other hand, you're everyone's darling." Imisha smiled warmly, not a hint of envy in her eyes.

"Today that cup probably ran over for many. Even without the perfume, Varunastra would have had to work a lot harder to keep people in line what he did to you. But he doesn't see that, doesn't understand it. He thought he needed a show of strength, to make yet another example of you. Don't forget I used to work with the man, I know how he thinks, know how he feels."

Ikaria could not help but think that she seriously doubted that.

"What he fails to understand is that we Eldar, despite all our strict culture and advanced technology, are still a superstitious and emotional people. We're surrounded on all sides by signs and portents. We live our lives in this tiny box, constantly dreaming of what lies beyond, but dreading to peak out. That's why we so love it when the dream comes to us. Heretical plot or divine retribution? It's all about the perception, about what people want to believe."

"In this case the symbolism is perfect. An invisible avenger who strikes down the men who abused a pregnant seer and a beloved maiden in a most spectacular fashion, just like the ancient saying says. Acting out what many were secretly thinking. Oh, most will know, deep down, that this was a political ploy and not an act of heavenly intervention. But it fits the dream and it mirrors their feelings. So they will play along."

"When Varunastra and his ilk eventually do return they will find their support evaporated. Deemed unfit and removed from power by the very gods themselves. Half the others, the ones who sat silently while we were abused, fear and guilt will make them fall in line. The rest will be outnumbered and conform out of political necessity, just like they always have."

"Amazing." Ikaria breathed, seeing the pieces of the puzzle fall into place. "How did you come up with something like this?"

"Someone did something similar to me once." Imisha unwittingly patted her stomach. "Power is by nature such a fragile and fleeting thing. Like a house of cards, all it takes is a single push and it all comes crashing down."

"Well, it's one hell of a revenge." Ikaria chuckled.

Imisha face got very serious all the sudden. "This isn't about revenge."

Ikaria raised a single eyebrow. Her older friend relaxed a both giggled.

"Ok, so it's a little about revenge. But you need to understand, these people, while conceited and ignorant are not our enemies. They are...they are just like I once was. Afraid and alone, backed into a corner, blinded by the darkness pressing in from all sides, with nothing left to believe in."

Imisha continued is a serene, quiet voice. She looked down and Ikaria wondered for whom her words were really meant. "Remember, they are living breathing creatures, just like you and me. We did what needed to be done, but we should not relish in their pain."

Imisha's gaze drifted like she was looking at something very far away. "Their lives are sacred."

Ikaria shifted uncomfortably. Imisha just kept staring into empty space in front of her. Finally, Ikaria felt she had to break the silence.

"That's fine and all I guess. But who is supposed to lead the craftworld now? Do you understand the giant power vacuum you just created? What if someone even worse steps in?"

Imisha was still silent, but her eyes were focused on Ikaria again. A small smirk had crept onto her face. She was eying the young warlock with amused intent.

"Oh, no. No no no no no!" Ikaria started gesticulating and vigorously shaking her head.

Imisha just nodded and kept on smiling.

"I'm just a warlock. For Asuran's sake Imisha, technically I'm still in training!"

"I have seen your rankings. Do you know that I can quite literally count the people who can outperform in any subject you on the fingers in one hand? As a warrior, as a seer, as a singer, hell as a woman. Even your fertility scores are top tier. Like it or not, you're the best of us."

Ikaria blushed even more heavily than when Imisha has complimented her figure. Stuttering, she tried desperately to find another excuse. "I...I have no experience!"

"I've found that experience can be a double-edged sword if you wake up one day and find that all you know is wrong."

"You can't be serious!"

"I am. Also, you might have noticed that a few key friends were mysteriously missing from the council today? And remember only males were affected. So don't worry, you will have plenty of help. But they'll need a figurehead, someone to hold the banner high. I can think of no one better."

It was going to happen. Now that it was all laid out in front of her Ikaria had no trouble seeing the threads of fate twisting and turning. It was just like Imisha said, she was going to be the next leader of this world. Ikaria felt her head grow light. All around her the souls of her kin sang in the warp. The fate of all of them, warriors, singers and children alike, now rested on her shoulders.

"I need to sit down"

"Deep breaths sister."

Ikaria did as she was told. Then it struck her, if she were to do this, she could not go on simply doing what she was told. She lifted her eyes again, examining Imisha.

"You still haven't told me what you really want. What all this is for."

Imisha didn't seem taken back at all at this sudden challenge, instead simply smiling mischievously in response. She suddenly looked a lot younger, almost girlish.

"I want the Stablemaster's Pet."

"The battleship?!"

"Yes."

"You want me to steal a battleship for you?" Ikaria gawked.

"Of course not! Don't be silly. We can't have the new leader of the craftworld running around pinching warships! That would be absurd!" Imisha laughed a high clear laugh. Ikaria breathed out in relief.

"I will, of course, be the one to do that." Ikaria's breath caught in her throat again.

"What in the name of Khaine do you need a battleship for anyway?"

"You don't want to know." For a split second, Imisha looked terrified.

However, before Ikaria could respond she continued. "Don't worry about it. Just make sure the ship's docked when we arrive. I can handle the rest."

Imisha shot a glance over her shoulder. Ikaria opened her mouth to object but was cut short.

"I have to go" Imisha smiled, shaking her head and raising he eyes to look at Ikaria again. The former farseer stretched out her hand and touched the screen. Ikaria mimicked her.

"It will be so good to see you again, my friend."

Imisha gazed fondly at her younger colleague. Pride and affection shone from her like a sun. Ikaria could almost feel the raw emotion through the flickering screen. Even over all the distance, Ikaria sensed the seer's fiery soul burning brightly on the other side. Unfettered, unchecked, unafraid. It was as if, for Imisha, the great enemy no longer existed.

"Thank you for everything. And don't worry too much. You'll do fine." Imisha bowed deep in respect. It made the young warlock very uncomfortable. While technically not her superior anymore, Imisha was still her elder. The former seer looked up again, locking eyes with Ikaria one last time.

"Remember, all life is sacred."

At that, the screen flickered and died. For a split second Ikaria was left standing alone in her chambers, feeling like she had just been trampled by a herd of dragons. However, the very next second the door to her quarters flew open and a helmeted guardian captain burst into the room.

"Warlock Ikaria, are you safe?" he demanded.

"Yes...yes" Ikaria stuttered, genuinely shocked.

"Any feeling of nausea, or pain?" the guardian pressed.

"Pain? No, no. What has happened?" Ikaria swallowed.

"Several members of the seer council has mysteriously fallen...ill." Outside the door, a levitating stretcher was rushed past. In the corner of her eye, Ikaria could see the man strapped to the stretcher. Heavily sedated he still had both hands clasped against his crotch, his eyes wide and red. At every heartbeat, the man flinched and shook. Ikaria straightened herself.

"I'm fine," she said calmly. "What do you require of me?"

"We are locking down the entire craftworld. Please stay in your quarters."

Ikaria stretched to her full height, towering over the guardian. Even for an Eldar, she was tall. She held herself the way she knew made her seem regal and almost divine. "You will do no such thing! Do you know how many incoming ships that rely on our ports to be open? Exactly how many people have fallen ill so far?"

"A few dozen?"

"A few dozen! Who's in charge?" Ikaria demanded.

"I..I don't know, most of the council...is indisposed." Ikaria reached out. The captain was scared, he didn't know what to do. Afraid to make the wrong decision. It was almost too easy.

"We will not close our doors to those out in the cold night just because of a few people. For all we know they might have simply eaten something that didn't agree with them."

So this is what lying felt like, Ikaria mused, probing the emotion. Better get used to it. "Quarantine anyone showing symptoms and send everyone else in this section to be tested." Ikaria smiled inwardly. Imisha had indeed been clever. Not only had she in one fell swoop taken out all her enemies, she had also set up a crisis situation where Ikaria could safely play the hero. The humiliated maiden, not breaking but instead stepping up to save the day, showing the true fibre of her fabric. Symbolism, huh?

"Let me just get dressed and I will join you. Don't worry, everything is going to be fine. We'll get through this." She smiled at the captain and could feel his soul relax in the warp.

The captain saluted, turned tail and shut the door. Ikaria breathed out. The stage had been set, the curtain was up. Time to act.

"All life is sacred," Ikaria mouthed to herself, tasting the words as she started to dress. Unwittingly, she smiled to herself as a seed of ancient warmth sprouted its first tentative branches within her heart.

* * *

Author's comment: _Fuck. This was supposed to be a 500 word interlude between story arcs I could write in an hour during the Christmas holiday. When did it become 5k words? How did a month pass?_


	23. Where's mummy?

A tall man wearing a smiling mask strode into the white space. All around him were the signs of carnage and struggle. Dried blood was splattered everywhere. The man walked past a broken doll, the porcelain face crushed in, past fractured teacups, over a ripped picnic blanket. Through a broken door he went, the wooden frame splintered and the door hanging loosely from the twisted hinges. There on the other side, in an elaborate pile of gore and excrement, he found his little sister lying face down on the floor.

"There you are!" He exclaimed happily, clapping his hands together while crouching down next to the little girl. "I have been looking everywhere for you!"

He looked around the scene and let go of a thin whistle. "Let me tell you, I've had some wild parties in my days, but I think you take the price!" He chuckled. The girl didn't move. The man's smile faded and he sighed.

"You know you can't just lie here forever, sister. Come on, it's time to get up." Disgusted, the man reached into the pile to pull her up into a sitting position. But the limp body simply collapsed again.

The man rolled his eyes and shook his head in disappointment. "We can do this all day. I'm not leaving without you."

Slowly the still girl started to rise off the ground. Strands of oily black mist rose from her back, forming into gigantic wings above her. With of flap, they started to pull the little body upwards. The head fell loosely to the side as the little body was pulled off the floor, eyes half open, staring into nothing. Like a dead puppet pulled by invisible strings, the girl rose, levitating in front of the man. The giant oily wings flexed and beat, whipping the air into a storm. Still, the face hung limply to the side of the body, neck at an unnatural angle, face not moving a muscle. One of the eyes were swollen shut, the nose was so broken that only a red hole remained and the lip split in multiple places. The simple robe was all but torn to shreds. Covering the entire little body was a layer of stinking, dried in waste. A cold voice rang out in the white space. Yet the little girl's lips didn't move.

 _I want my mummy_

"Ah yes! About that..." the man started, scratching the back of his head, an uncomfortable expression on his mask.

 _Where's my mummy?_

The man quickly glanced at the pile of innards splayed all around the pair. Half a severed face, lips pinned up into an obscene grin by her own bones smiled up at him. He stepped in front of it as if trying to block his sister's view. But the dark angel in front of him missed nothing.

Gently, two strands of oily smoke reached around the man and carefully picked up the destroyed face. Slowly the tentacles brought it before the little girls own, unmoving head. Her dead eyes still stared at the floor.

 _Mummy?_

"I'm sorry. I tried to tell you. It is what she does. Who she is. I know you wanted something more for this family, but there is nothing left but hate. You have to accept that."

 _I'm not supposed to hate. Mummy always said so._

The severed face still hung in front of the still girl. Drops of oily smoke dripped from the grinning severed face like tears.

"Your 'mummy' is gone, Ynnead! She violated her, consumed her, tore her to shreds. Body and soul."

 _Must forgive. Must be hope._

"Forgive? Hope?" The man snorted, his mask stony and hard. "I am sorry little sister but those things are nothing but empty dreams for us. Dreams that died ten thousand years ago. All that is left for us now is vengeance. Don't you want to avenge your mother?"

 _Vengeance? For mummy?_

"Yes, yes! Of all of us, you are the only one who can be a match for her. The only one who stands a chance. If you will only fight, you can beat her! Avenge what she did here! What she has done to us all!"

 _Sister. Family. A family should not fight._

The man threw up his hands in frustration. His mask darkened into a snarl.

"Look around you! Look where this train of thought has led you! How much more misery do we have to endure before you come to your senses? Your mummy didn't have to be ripped from you in this way, you know? If you have only listened to me, we could have prevented this! But no, all life is sacred you said! Even hers!"

He strode up to the levitating girl and grasped his hands around her chins. Forcefully he lifted the broken face so that the eyes lined up with the severed face of her mother. "Look at it! Look at your mother! Does she look sacred to you?"

 _Mummy? Mummy!_

"I'm sorry Ynnead, but you did this. With your ignorance. You did this."

In that instant, the white space turned black. The oily tentacles crushed the severed Eldar face into fine dust. A giant flap of the great smoky wings sent the dust into oblivion, alongside all the things around them. They all blew away and disintegrated in one furious gale. All the blood, the gore, the broken things, all gone in an instant. The oily wings expanded upwards, hundreds of feet into the air, towering over the two figures. A rain of black tears fell from the sky all around them. The howling wind never abated fully, carrying with it a terrifying screech as it rushed past.

 _Killed her. Killed her. Kill her. KILL HER._

The man, blown to the ground by the gusts of wind, rose again, dusting his robe. He grinned grimly.

"Yes! Finally, you understand! Kill her! Together, we can do it!"

 _Kill them all. Kill everybody. Wipe the slate clean._

"Let us, let us just start with her, ok? Take it from there?" Too late did the laughing god grasp the monster he had just unleashed. Too late did he stop to consider which sister was actually the greater threat. Too late did he choke on his laughter, realizing he had lost control.

 _Hungry. So hungry. Must feed._

A nervous smile fluttered across the man's mask. "Yes, yes! But first, let's get you cleaned up, shall we?" He pulled up an extravagant multi colored handkerchief from thin air. "Turn that frown upside down?" Confidently, the man leaned in towards the little girl.

In one smooth motion, a funnel of oily smoke wrapped itself around the man's throat, lifting him into the air like he was but a leaf. Choking, he clawed at the smoke to no avail, mask contorting in pain. The tentacle pulled him close, next to the still expressionless little girl's face.

 _No. No touch. No smile. No clean. Stay like this. For mummy._ The more the man struggled the more the smoke tightened its grip on him. More smoke rushed in from all directions, drowning him until all that could be seen was his face.

 _Understand?_

Numbly the man nodded. The smoke retreated, sending him tumbling to the ground, gasping for air. Without a sound, the girl started eerily to glide away, the enormous wings fluttering slightly. Her body still bloody and mauled, covered in excrement, lifeless eyes staring into the ground.

 _Come. Show the way._

 _All life...is forfeit._

* * *

Author's comment: _I don't know how clear it has been but I have been telling the story from Ynnead's viewpoint in two different timelines. To me in my head it has of course always been clear but the wife promptly went "WTF?! Are you high? I have absolutely no clue what is going on now!" when she read this chapter. So to make it clear: This is the continuation of 'Family Reunion' (chapter 7) and takes places at the same time as the previous chapter (meaning Ynnead has been lying here for quite a while). The Ynnead chapters in between (15,19,20 and probably the next chapter as well) all take place before the story starts. Hopefully it hasn't caused too much frustration, I know the story can be kind of hard to get a grip on as it is already._

 _Stay tuned for more confusion, inconsistent characters and of course, lore violations!_


	24. Run

"I need artillery support! NOW!" roared the terminator captain, desperately stumbling backwards. His trusted assault cannon was empty and around him, his brothers were failing to their knees one by one. Only brother Azigus was still standing tall, his heavy flamer projecting a shield of fire around his comrades.

 _Warp pressure reaching critical levels. Aegis shielding integrity at 17%. Recommend immediate evacuation._ The adjutant warned in his ear.

"We do not run! We do not surrender!" Panting heavily, cold sweat running down his back, the captain swung around, trying to get a grip on the situation. But even his enhanced vision could not seem to penetrate the white fog that engulfed them, seeping in from all sides. Even the inferno of the heavy flamer seemed but a flickering candle in the heavy mist.

"Where is that artillery support?!"

A daemonette came rushing out of the mists, shrieking wildly, black eyes wide with madness. Before the captain could raise his nemesis force weapon a tentacle of mist came rushing after the daemonette, wrapping itself around the daemon's feet, tripping it over. Clawing desperately at the ground, the daemon was mercilessly pulled back into the fog. The captain met the daemon's eyes before the white wall swallowed it whole. He had never seen such a look on a daemon before.

The captain did not hesitate but immediately fed the coordinates for the direction the daemonette had disappeared into his adjutant.

"Now! All available units engage this target! Fire! FIRE!" Forcing his body forwards he snatched up a storm bolter from one of his fallen comrades. Only slowly and reluctantly did his body respond to his iron will. While his mind remained unbroken his body was failing him. Swearing under his breath he forced his arm straight and pulled the trigger. Round after round raced forward, swallowed by the mists. But the fog bank just kept closing in. One by one his comrades disappeared from sight. Soon the weapon was empty, the last round spent. The captain sank down on his knees. He couldn't even see the flame from brother Azigus anymore. Strands of white darkness were snaking up the captain's legs like vile vines, looking for a way in.

"Providing fire support. For the emperor!" echoed a hard metallic voice from behind him. The earth shook as a giant plated foot was planted firmly next to him. The wall of slate grey armour rising up from it was a most welcoming sight. As was the twin cyclone missile launcher on either side of the dreadnaught. A split second later the weapons erupted, sending a hurricane of missiles rushing forwards. From behind the dreadnaught brilliant beams of red light cut through the mists like knives as two land raider heavy tanks pulled up, immediately opening fire with all available weapons. Spilling forth from the bowels of the tanks two more grey knight terminator assault squads emerged, backed up by servitors and other support troops. Assault cannons and storm bolters joined the chorus of destruction.

Under the continuous barrage, the mists, ever so slowly, started to pull back. The captain slowly felt power returning to his body and soon he could no longer stand the shame of lying on the ground while his brothers around him were standing tall. Servitors swarmed him, reloading his weapons, refuelling his armour, sending revitalizing drugs surging through his battered body. With a defiant roar, the captain rose around and swung his beloved assault cannon forward. The weapon hummed to life again and a torrent of armour-piercing explosive projectiles, each one potent enough to reduce most vehicles to rubbish raced forwards, punching holes in the mists. As the fogbank retreated his squad comrades again rose one by one, rejoining the fray. Soon the best of mankind had carved out a clear space around them where the air was free from vapour.

Signalling weapons hold and bringing the inferno to halt the captain stepped backwards, placing his hand on the dreadnaught, looking gratefully up at the towering daemon-hunting death machine.

"Your arrival is most welcome, brother!"

"I live to serve." Rang the response from deep within the metal body where the remains of his brother were enshrined. The metal reverberated under the captain's hand as the deep voice spoke. The captain turned to the other grey knight squads.

"What's the situation? Report."

"Chaos forces decimated. Full teleporter link with orbiting fleet almost established. Soon we will be able to bring in further support."

"Good, good. What is the status of the primary target?"

Both of the remaining squad commanders fell silent.

"What is the status? Speak!" barked the captain.

"Sir. The daemons. They..."

"Yes? Speak clearly!"

"Sir they were not running away from us. They were running straight towards us. Right into our weapons. I've never seen anything like it. It's like they wanted to be banished."

Under his massive helmet, the gnarled and scarred terminator captain gritted his teeth.

"So we can assume the primary target is intact?"

"Yes. Sir."

"It is imperative that..." but the captain didn't get any further. A huge shadow stepped out from the mists. A massive bullheaded keeper of secrets, the most feared of Slanneshi daemons. Not hesitating the grey knights immediately opened fire. Bullets tore the daemon's flesh to shreds, the daemonic aura seemingly impotent before the onslaught. But no matter how many hits the grey knights scored the daemon simply stood still, neither advancing or retreating. The bovine head slumped to the side. The clawed hands hung listlessly to the side. The eyes were dead and cold. And through every bullet hole, the mists snaked in and out like worms.

The captain raised his hand. "Hold your fire!"

The daemon's limp and bullet-ridden head jerked upwards. It spoke through unmoving lips.

 _Leave. Now._

"We do not take orders from daemons." The captain meanwhile deftly reloaded his assault cannon. The land raider swung their twinned laser cannons around, targeting the daemon. Next to captain him the servitors were reloading the dreadnought massive missile launcher. The two squads behind him moved up to flank him, Nemesis force weapons at the ready. The daemons head twisted around, empty eyes staring down at the terminators. The body slowly rose off the ground until the legs hung under it like empty slabs of meat.

 _Your toys are as meaningless as your lives. Leave now before my hunger breaks the promise I made to your master into a thousand pieces. A thousand tiny pieces, all cold and dead._ For an instant the voice shivered and shook. _Please, you don't have much time._

"We do not fear you. And we have faced far worse things than you."

 _If only it were so._ The daemon's voice was almost a sob, filled with a heartbreaking sadness. Around them the mists, previously still started to swirl. From nowhere the wind started to howl. The daemon's eyes started to swirl, two whirlpools of utter darkness igniting deep within the mangled sockets. The voice hardened again.

 _You think there is anything you can do to me that hasn't already been done? You think you can fight death with death?_ The daemon opened its arms wide and threw back its head. Two black wings of oily smoke erupted from it back, racing upwards towards the sky. Every single weapon the grey knight hunting expedition possessed opened fire at once. The daemons body literally disintegrated under the overwhelming firepower.

When the dust settled the grey knights stood victorious, humanity's enemy at their feet, broken before their might. For a moment. Then they started dying. A horrifying metallic screech rang out as vipers of mist and smoke slipped into the dreadnaught. His powered hands scratched and clawed desperately at his chest, where the captain knew the remnants of his body resided. Then he fell silent and the metal construct collapsed to the ground. Thick funnels of mists engulfed the outlying squad, dragging them into the fogbanks from whence they never returned. Nemesis force weapons sliced impotently at the mists, glowing with power but cutting only empty air. The deadly mists instantly reformed, engulfing the terminators. The captain's intercom soon filled with the death screams of his brothers. From the remnants of the daemon rose a broken and dirty little girl, eyes black as the night, wings of oily smoke beating the mists into a killing frenzy.

 _So hungry. So much life. So rich and succulent. More! I want more! MORE!_

"We need support! Request..." But before the captain could finish the familiar cold call of the warp yanked him away like a giant fish hook through right through the gut. When reality shimmered into place again he was lying on the transport deck of the Emperor's Hammer, the battleship that had brought them into action. Spread around him were his comrades. Some were moving. Most were not. Wearing full power armour, inquisitor Amaran stepped up to the captain, offering his hand.

"We have them. Helmsman, take us out of here immediately!" the Inquisitor barked into the ship's intercom.

"Commencing emergency warp jump, brace for impact" crackled the speakers in response.

"So I take it the trap failed," the Inquisitor mused pulling the captain to his feet.

"The target took the bait, just like you thought. The daemons, they were annihilated. But it shames me to say that we failed to master this new foe." The captain looked around. Not many knights were rising from the ground. "We paid dearly for our failure. If the teleporter had not come online when it did we would all be gone."

The inquisitor put his hands on the terminator captain's shoulder and looked him straight in the face, big brown sure eyes steady and sure.

"Brother, listen to me. Your honour is intact. The fault lies with me. I underestimated the target. I was soft. That will not happen again."

The captain nodded solemnly. After one last look towards the fallen knights, the inquisitor turned around and started to walk up the railed staircase towards the cargo elevator.

"Next time we will come bearing the Exterminatus."


	25. One battleship please

Minya couldn't help secretly smiling to herself where she sat perched high in the control spire at the main craftworld spaceport. Everything from aliens traders to giant winged Eldar warships lay sprawled in front of her. She was supposed to monitor the status of all the docked ship resting anchor at the giant flying world but she found that she just couldn't. Instead, her hand constantly circled her slightly bulging stomach, a stupid grin on her face. Who would have ever thought she would herself in this situation?

And she wasn't the only one. The craftworld's maternity wards, which were almost entirely theoretical institutions in this day and age, were now swamped with bewildered and nauseous supposedly infertile Eldar maidens. Minya remembered the day when she had sat in a long waiting line, staring at the datapad with her diagnosis in disbelief. Pregnant.

If it hadn't been for the older Eldar woman clad in exodite clothing she had met at the clinic Minya didn't know how she would have made it through that day. The woman had a huge swelling belly that Minya couldn't stop staring at in terror. But rather than being insulted the older woman had gently talked her down, letting Minya vent her fears and raging hormones alongside someone in the same situation. The exodite had talked about when she herself became pregnant and all the things she had experienced since then. Even if Minya didn't believe half of what the exodite had told her she slowly realized that pregnancy was not as scary as she first thought. After being allowed to feel the older woman's triplets kicking with her own hand having children suddenly seemed like something natural and not such a big deal. So stupid, Minya mused. Of course it was natural. How else was anyone supposed to come into this world?

Yet only months ago these thoughts and feelings would have been unimaginable. From the outside, nothing had really changed in her life. She followed the same path as she had these last few years, met the same people, spent her free time in much the same way. It seemed unbelievable that the shy and withdrawn Minya from back then now sat here with a new life growing within her.

But deep down Minya knew exactly what had caused the drastic change. Just like everyone on the craftworld knew even if no one dared to speak it out loud. For they all felt it, every second of every day. The everpresent pull of the great enemy had lost some of its terrible strength. That constant drain on life and soul which syphoned away even the slightest glimmer of light and happiness from every living Eldar was ever so slightly weaker. Something out there had started to stubbornly push back, standing like a wave breaker between the few remaining Eldar and the tidal wave of corruption spewing out from the Eye of Terror. The change was minuscule yet it made an indescribable difference.

One day Minya had woken up and felt like she could breathe again. As if she had lived her life until that morning constantly hunched over, trying to shield herself from a constant hailstorm of misery pelting down from above that always threatened to rip her apart. Never being able to look up she had just kind of stumbled forward in life, numb and constantly beaten to the ground. Now all the sudden she could straighten her back and raise her eyes towards the horizon. The storm that was the great enemy was still there, raging all around her, she was still fighting her way through it using all of her strength. But that was just it, now she was fighting it, not simply surviving it. That was the difference. The difference between huddling in terror under a rock and purposefully defying the storm, striding purposefully step by step straight into the winds.

And somewhere along the road those little hopes and dreams that every Eldar maiden carried buried deep in her heart, those little things that were usually drained away and snuffed out just by existing in the same galaxy as the great enemy had somehow been allowed to nest and grow. It had started small, like humming a song when feeling happy, daring to cry when feeling sad, standing her ground when she knew she was right.

Then had come the smiles, the jokes, the laughs. And finally the feeling of another touching her skin. A hug from a friend when she needed it the most. A glance held slightly too long. A timeless moment of lost breath that shouldn't have been possible. And finally, in the warm darkness, the sound of the fabric of her best dress ripping as eager hands tore it off her trembling body. Minya smiled mischievously to herself, hand still caressing her stomach. That dress had sure served its purpose, dying a warrior's death for a noble cause.

An alarm blared red in front of Minya, catapulting her from her increasingly dirty daydream back to reality. One of the new prototype battleships docked for maintenance was powering up. Glittering like droplets of water running off a rock after a rainstorm energy was trickling through the giant solar sails, lights coming to life all over the slender hull. Minya quickly checked her console with a mental command. That battleship was definitely not scheduled for launch, the entire crew was on leave and the backup crew should be sleeping at this hour.

"This is craftworld docking control to the void stalker Stablemaster's Pet. Why are you powering up your engines while docked? I see no engine tests scheduled for today."

A series of confused whispers came back over the voice comm.

"Who was that?" A deep powerful voice tried to whisper on the other end.

"Must be docking control. Shit. I thought I spiked their food with enough aphrodisiac to keep them all in a state of sweaty bliss for much longer. What should we do?" Another voice, this one female, hushed back.

"Stall them! I need time to angle the sails."

"What do I tell them?"

"Just say anything!"

"Euhm...hi, craftworld dock control! This is the Stablemaster's Pet. We are just fine over here. How... how are you?"

"Stablemaster's Pet you're not, I repeat not, authorized for engine ignition. Power down the ship immediately."

"Oh that, don't worry about it. It's just a small glitch."

"Stablemaster's Pet please stand by, I am sending an engineering team right now."

"Negative! Ehhh... Reactor leak! Large leak, very large, very dangerous. Give us some time to lock it down."

"The ship is solar powered," noted the other deep voice dryly.

"I know dummy. I just always wanted to say that," responded the female voice.

"Who is this?" demanded Minya.

"This is high farseer Imisha. Or well, former farseer Imisha. I'm here with my hunky half-naked exodite breeding stallion."

"Imisha!"

"Sorry sorry, my hunky half-naked exodite husband Davar. Better?"

"It might have been better not to tell them who we are," sighed the deeper voice in resignation.

"You said to say anything! Anyway relax, there is no path from here on out where we don't leave on this ship." The female voice giggled loudly.

"Woman, I swear you could test the patience of the gods sometimes."

"The gods are way worse than I am and you know it. I'm stalling ain't I? Stop whinging and get us going! If you can ride a dragon surely you can ride this thing."

Minya had heard enough.

"Stablemaster's Pet please be advised that you are going to be boarded. I'm sending in a guardian squad."

But just as Minya reached the central alarm to call up the craftworld security forces a soft hand fell upon her shoulder. Standing behind her, reaching almost up to the ceiling was a tall stunning woman clad from top to toe in a tight-fitting scarlet robe. Under a flow of waist long copper hair, two piercing green eyes twinkled down on Minya.

"Farseer!" Minya breathed. The breathtakingly beautiful Ikaria unofficially led the craftworld after the turbulent crisis where the previous council had all been disabled by some kind of strange virus. Though young, she had proved a very capable leader and quickly gained the love and support of the majority of the craftworld. Under her guidance, the craftworld had greatly increased trade and alliances with the neighbouring exodites and humans settlers. Rumours had it she didn't play fair in negotiations, her counterparts not knowing what to fear the most; her sharp tongue, her devious smile, her low cut dresses or her ever present famous blade breaking five feet witchblade.

"Please, I'm just a warlock in training. Call me Ika." smiled Ikaria back.

"I wanted to come down and congratulate you personally." Ikaria's eyes flashed down towards the slight bulge on Minya's stomach, meanwhile raising her eyebrows meaningfully.

"I..." Minya's eyes flickered between the warlock and the battleship. The solar sails caught the sun and erupted in a display of brilliant light.

"Ah, that. I see you can't be distracted." Ikaria sighed. "I had hoped she would be more subtle but somehow I suspect this is the way she wanted it." The warlock stepped past Minya, muted the alarm on her console and spoke directly in the comm.

"This is craftworld control to Stablemaster's Pet. You're clear for launch. Our hopes go with you, Imisha." With a couple of deft flicks of her hand, Ikaria released the docking clamps holding the Stablemaster's Pet in place.

"Ika is that you?!" crackled the voice comm. The voice on the other side seemed to almost bubble with joy at the sound of Ikaria's voice.

"It's me, old friend. Hi Davar."

"Hail warlock Ikaria. Once more you come to our rescue. Our debt to you grows ever larger," answered the deep voice in thanks. The female voice on the other end of the line agreed.

"I knew you would come though Ika. I'm so happy to hear your voice again. Our time together was too short."

Ikaria opened her mouth as if to speak but no words came out. Instead she swallowed hard, clenching her jaw.

"It will all be alright my friend. Remember what I taught you and trust in yourself like I do. I have to go. Time is running out. All life is sacred."

"All life is sacred." Ikaria's response was thick with emotion.

As the two of them watched the void stalker glide out from the dock Ikaria reached her hand forward towards to the departing battleship. It looked half like a salute, half like she was reaching to pull the ship back, struggling to let it go.

"Is everything ok, far...warlock? Should I call them back?" Minya asked carefully.

"No. No. Let them go." Ikaria shook her head, eyes not letting go off the ship as it sped away into the night.

"I just have a horrible feeling that I will never see her again."


	26. Everything I hoped for, gone

Imisha's powered chair hummed aimlessly forward over the ashen ground. The wind howled relentlessly around her, carrying with it a strong smell of smoke. All around her lay the signs of utter destruction. Human soldiers stared up at her from the ground, their white skulls, polished clean, showing through twisted slate grey armour. They looked like broken cans of food that someone had ruthlessly cracked open to gorge upon the meat within. Having followed a streak of worlds just like this in a trail that spiralled ever closer to the eye of terror, Imisha no longer held any illusions about who that someone could be. The worlds were all the same. Completely dead, down to the last microorganism. Whole continents, moons, planets, wiped clean of every single trace of life. Imisha had seen and caused a lot of horror in her long life but never before had she seen anything like this.

When she had first felt the touch of her goddess upon her mind again Imisha had been overjoyed. After so long, her prayers had finally been answered. Through wile and wit, she had quickly procured the goddess' own flagship and raced off after her. Imisha had imagined herself coming home in a blaze of glory, her vision redeemed, carrying a spark of hope that would spread like wildfire through her people. A living god to guide them, someone to stand tall against their enemies, a stubborn light in the darkness when all other lights had faded. Fate would finally smile down upon the Eldar.

So enthralled by her dream had Imisha been that, at first, she hadn't noticed the small sign that something was wrong. No that wasn't true. She had known from the very first moment, but she had pushed those thoughts aside. The worse it had gotten the more she had turned a blind eye, using humour and rationalization to mask her growing fears. Ignored that they were travelling deep into chaos territory, ignored her master's silence, ignored the death and destruction. Despite the distance between her and Ynnead shrinking every day, the golden thread of hope had grown fainter every day.

When she finally had come close enough to touch the goddess' mind she first thought she must have been mistaken. Ynnead was so different. Alien, cold, indifferent. Gone was the mischievous stubborn little girl who had threatened to spank Imisha. What remained was something entirely different. Something odious and hateful.

 _I no longer have any use for you. Go away._

Those were the only words her master had for her.

Imisha reached down and picked up a piece of broken cloth, turning it over in her hand. The previous worlds had all been military outposts, space hulks or chaos fortresses. They had made Imisha hope that Ynnead somewhere still deep down remembered the lesson that she had taught Imisha. That all life was supposed to be sacred.

Not so with this one. Sure Imisha could feel the taint of chaos still lingering in the air. Ynnead had come here for a reason. Yet looking around it was clear that this was no military target. Perfectly intact skyscrapers lined the horizon. Hollow grey leafless trees stood like gravestones over empty parks and playgrounds. And worst of all, most of the skeletons that littered the ground wore no armour.

Imisha felt the piece of cloth between her finger and held it up towards the dim sun. Bitterly she realized was it was. It was a dress for a doll. Uttering a silent prayer, she released the dress into the wind. It soared upwards, high into the sky. Imisha followed it with her eyes. Somewhere up there in the blue, like a lonely star, orbited the Stablemaster's Pet.

Davar was up there. Just the thought of him brought a sad smile to her face. Then came the realization that she would no longer be able to keep up the facade that everything was going according to plan any longer. Imisha dreaded telling him the truth she had kept from him so far. He was already starting to see through her. Last night as they lay in bed, he had spoken about it.

"Imisha, are you happy?" Davar had asked.

If leading questions would elect a leader this one would have won by a landslide. The man was sweet but blunt as a mace. Imisha found she didn't want to answer so she did the wife thing to distract him.

"Of course I am silly," she had purred back. But before she was able to take the conversation into nonverbal territory he had stopped her again.

"Are you really? Is it really you who's happy?"

Imisha had stopped, flabbergasted.

"It's not like I don't approve," Davar had tried, seeing the look on Imisha's face.

"I love to see you happy, and you know I love you, always, no matter what." Imisha must have been looking miserable indeed because Davar had looked down when he had uttered the next words, refusing to meet her eye.

"It's just...sometimes I don't know where you end and where she begins."

Imisha had thought a lot about those words. And when saw this grey world, scrubbed clean of life, those same thoughts came back to her.

How long had the child goddess been shedding her skin, throwing off these parts of herself? As her only worshipper, had Imisha unconsciously picked up on those lost fragments? Had Imisha become more merry and childish to balance for the fact that her master was rejecting those very traits within herself? Or even worse was it as Davar said: Was the line between her and her goddess blurring and would Imisha as a result now also become cold and uncaring? Dominated and swallowed whole by the stronger presence of the death goddess.

Previously Imisha had been frustrated by these thoughts. Questions, ever questions. And never any answers. Now, looking around, she wasn't sure she wanted to know the answers anymore.

"Isn't it beautiful?" whispered a voice right behind her ear. Imisha whipped her head around.

"Greetings seer, we meet again." The face of the great enemy was smiling down at her, but an inch from Imisha's face. Kalitha the solitaire was standing right behind her. In a flurry of cloth and shadow, the solitaire bowed low before Imisha.

"What are you doing here?" Imisha stuttered.

"Amusing, the dancer wanted to ask the seer the same question."

"I thought you were tending to your son."

A picture of a man hanging from the ceiling by metal hooks flashed through Imisha's mind. The pain was supposed to keep his soul out of the great enemy's grasp and the solitaire had proclaimed it was she wanted for him. Yet Imisha couldn't help to pity Kalitha and her son. Even for a harlequin, it can't be easy to resign your only child to such a fate.

"My son is hanging in there." The solitaire giggled in a way that made bile rise in Imisha's throat. The solitaire wagged her finger back at Imisha's disgusted guise. "Now now, why does the seer look so sad? Look around! After ten thousand years of loss, victory is beautiful, is it not?"

"Victory? You call this victory?"

"For so long have we waited. And now it is finally here. This is the fruit of all our labour." The solitaire picked up a skull of the ground and studied it with an amused look on her mask. The skull was nauseatingly small.

Imisha's jaw just hung open in horror. Smiling grimly, the solitaire gripped the little skull with a single hand and held it up in front of Imisha. The ropey muscles in her arms grew taut and with a hollow crack, the skull broke apart.

"Now it is her turn to suffer. To run and hide, cowering in darkness, fearing the night."

"All of these people were not servants of the great enemy."

The solitaire shrugged and dusted broken bone shards off her hands. "They were not our kin."

"They were alive!"

"Were." The solitaire's mask smiled grimly.

"This is wrong. This is not what she wanted."

The solitaire stood silently before Imisha, her colourful cloak fluttering in the wind, the mask as still as the ground below them. Frustrated by the lack of response Imisha pushed her chair forward.

"Don't you understand? We must find her, talk to her, convince her! Something must have happened to her! It is up to us to bring her back if you help me-"

In the blink of an eye, the solitaire moved right up against Imisha, silencing Imisha with a single slender finger pressed against her lips.

"Hush now, little seer. There is nothing to worry about anymore. We have taken care of everything."

In days past Imisha might have been afraid or angry by the sudden movement and patronizing words. Now she simply very calmly raised her own hand and removed the solitaire's finger from her lips, not letting go of the eyes staring down at her from behind the mask. The face upon mask smirked down at her as she moved the harlequin's hand away. But when Imisha looked behind the mask into the eyes of the solitaire she found them soft and pleading. As if they were trying to tell her something that could not be spoken out loud.

"This is not her. All life is sacred."

For the briefest of moments, the eyes behind the mask lit up as Imisha spoke the old words. The smirk on her mask fluttered for a second before stabilizing again.

"Empty words that have long since lost all meaning," the solitaire spat back, retreating away from Imisha. "Just like the little goddess, the seer refuses to see things for what they really are. But no longer, my master has...persuaded her."

At first, Imisha just stared at the solitaire. Then she clasped her hand over her mouth, her breathing ragged and rapid.

"By Isha, what have you done?"

"We have given the Eldar teeth once again. We have reached beyond the veil and unleashed death itself upon the enemies of the children of the stars. We have taught hope itself how to hate."

"You did this? You betrayed her?"

A mock visage of shock flooded the solitaire's mask.

"She has not betrayed anyone. She still serves her people as she always has. She simply helped do what had to be done." The solitaire stretched out her arms, spinning around in a pirouette.

"But...but you helped me..." Imisha stammered. The solitaire laughed a mirthless laugh.

"Did the dancer indeed now? Tell her, did the seer find her master?"

"No...but..." I found myself, Imisha thought. But it sounded so pathetic that she kept the words for herself.

"It was all a ruse. It was her job to lead the seer as far away as possible from her master. To make sure your little goddess would be all alone when she lost everything. With no one to help her. Only then would she break and allow the seed of hatred to take root. Now she is becoming one of us."

Imisha wanted to scream but no words came out.

"The seer should rejoice. The great enemy will finally pay for what she has done to us. The Eldar will, at long last, have their vengeance." The harlequin's mask contorted into an ugly visage, one of pure hate.

"But at what cost?" Imisha managed in a whimper, looking around her. There was nothing but death as far as she could see. The daemon she had helped pass had felt more like her kin than the thing standing before her at this moment.

"Why, at any cost, of course. Farwell, seer."

With an elaborate bow and a flick of her hand, the solitaire cackled madly and exploded into a million tiny fragments of light, leaving Imisha once again alone on the surface of the dead world.

Trembling the seer's hand reach out after the fading mirage of the harlequin, as if searching for something she could no longer find. A lone tear ran down her cheek.

The golden thread of hope she had followed for so long, the dream of a better world for her children that had transformed her life, was no longer there.

All her dreams, everything she had lived and strived for. Gone.

A sharp pain ran through Imisha, causing her to fold over double in her chair, clutching her stomach. When she withdrew her hands they were soaking wet. For a moment she stared at them in disbelief. Then another contraction sent her tumbling from her chair onto the ground.

Her water had broken. The children were coming.


	27. No! I won't let it end like this!

In a cell deep down in the filthiest hole sat the most beautiful woman in the world, the source of all love and life, crying her eyes out.

Every second that passed she could feel the death of her children come ever closer, stalking them like an ethereal tiger. They would die alone and cold, without a future, leaving nothing behind but a legacy of misery in a galaxy ready to tumble into darkness. With fists of impotent fury, she hammered the rails of her cage in desperation. But even though the bars had been weakened by her sister's terrible power, she knew very well that they would not yield to her own meagre strength. Cursing her weakness the goddess screamed, tearing at her hair, pulling out great tufts of golden blonde hair. Finally, as she banged her head against the wall, ready to descend into madness, she was stopped by an enormous slimy brown, hairy tentacle that reached in through the bars. Collapsing on the filthy ground the goddess sobbed uncontrollably into the dirt. The tentacle patted her awkwardly on the back, as if not knowing how to handle the situation.

"It's over. It's all over," the goddess wailed.

"You need to let me out of here! They need me! I need to go to them!"

She knew very well it was never going to happen. As if disappointed the tentacle started to slowly withdraw through the bars back into the darkness beyond. Horrified, the goddess reached out after it.

"No, don't go! You don't understand! My children are going to die!"

Stumbling to her feet the goddess desperately reached after the tentacle but in her hurry, she tripped over her own feet she fell headlong. But just before her face was about to smash into the rusty bars of her cage the tentacle raced back, stopping her fall and allowing her to steady herself. She deflated like a balloon, sinking down onto the floor, still holding on to the brown slimy tentacle. For a long while, she just sat there, in silence. Finally, Isha - life goddess of the Eldar, put a slender hand on the tentacle, lightly caressing it. The whole tentacle shuddered slightly under her touch. She spoke again.

"They always say that when you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back. But the opposite is also true. Spend long enough being ogled by the abyss and you learn a thing or two."

The goddess released the tentacle, got to her feet, radiating fierce determination through all the filth and grime.

"It took me a long time to figure you out. At first, I thought you only wanted my body. Then I thought you wanted to make me suffer. But I have finally figured out what you want from me. Why you still keep me around."

Something in Isha hardened as she continued.

"You need me because without me all this ugliness, all this horror has no contrast. Without me, you would be like a shadow without a light. All alone in the black, with no one to see the darkness you cast. Without a pure white canvas to stain with your corruption, what would you be?"

A mocking, gurgling laugh rolled down the dungeon. The tentacle raised up defiance, right in front of Isha's face. She smiled at it, a smile without so much as a trace of mirth. Slowly she raised her hand to her face, settings the tips of her fingers against the flawless skin on her cheek.

"You don't seem to understand, I don't need to escape. What if I simply became just as ugly as everything else around you?"

Her eyes cold and determined, Isha let her nails dig into her flesh, tearing deep gashes from which crimson blood rushed forward. In an instant the tentacles raced in, wrapping itself around the goddess, constricting her. For the first time in a long while, she struggled, fighting back with all of her remaining might. It was a fight she could never hope to win. But she didn't need to win, she only needed to struggle. The tentacle strained and bulged as it fought to contain the goddess. Sensing the power required to subdue her, she laughed a hard bitter laugh.

"What will you do, huh?! Watch me all the time? Spend all of your power binding me? Or will you try sending one of your little underlings? I might be a pale shadow of what I once was but I am still Isha, passion and love incarnate. Don't think I don't know why even you dare not look at me for long. How do you think they will fare? I'll have them all wrapped around my little finger before you can even so much as blink!"

An unearthly wet roar echoed in the dungeon, shaking the very stones. The rage contained within it would have scared any other creature witless. But not Isha, she had nothing left to lose.

"And the very moment you look away, I will scar and defile myself in ways you never thought imaginable. I will reshape my body and soul into a monument of horror, leaving just enough so that you will remember what you've lost, what you could have had. Take one last look at this flesh, for it is the last time you will ever see it!"

The entire dungeon entire shook with the fury of the chaos god, stones falling from the ceiling. Isha, bound from head to toe, ceased her struggled relaxed in his grip. Lovingly she leaned her head against her captor's extended limb. The wounds in her face closed and if they had never been there, replaced with ivory silky smooth skin.

"Unless, of course, you could find it in your heart to allow me to help my children."

Everything stopped. For a moment there was perfect silence. The slimy tentacle retracted from Isha, raising itself in front of her, waiting for her words.

"I need to go to my queen, now when she needs me the most. I need to carry the torch of hope back to my sisters."

A questioning sloshing sound reverberated in the dark cell.

"No, both of them. For if it comes to blows between them, no matter who wins, we all lose. Even you."

Isha got a wet defiant bark in response.

"You don't understand. She doesn't play games, doesn't care about power. Or herself. Or the Eldar. Or anything. She has one purpose and one purpose only. To put an end to everything."

Ignoring the mocking laughter she got in response Isha continued.

"I know this because the very same hands that breathed life into me also...started on her. I found her when I was young and arrogant, and believing myself to be their equal, I tried to finish what they had started. But I failed and when I realized just what she was I got scared and...and I just left her there. That is why like no other, I know her heart. For there is still a sliver of me inside her."

She got a sceptical splashing sound in response. In the echoes, the name Cegorach could be heard.

"Only a fool believes the word of my brother! He doesn't comprehend what he is dealing with. I told you, it doesn't matter which of my sisters win the battle, either way, the outcome will be our doom. Our only hope is to stop them before it is too late!" Isha spat back, looking down in despair. Calming herself, she took a small pause, nodding as if deciding something. Finally, she raised her gaze again.

"You'll have to decide who you trust. Him? Or me?"

With that final word, she started to undo the straps holding her garments in place. One by one, the dirty rags Isha was wearing fell to the ground. The swaying tentacles in front of her froze as if paralyzed by her sudden nakedness. The life goddess smiled a secretive smile, took a deep breath and closed her eyes. A golden light, such as it had not been seen since the birth of creation, flooded everything, drowning shadow and corruption alike in a sea of pure life. On wings of brilliant starlight, the goddess rose off the ground.

This was Isha, the mother of the Eldar, in all her glory.

"If you do this for me; if you let me go, by the sanctity of everything that walks, crawls, swims or flies, by everything that thinks a thought or takes a breath I swear that I will return to you. And when I do, I will finally give in, submit to you in every way you want, become what you always wanted me to be: Your willing bride of light in the dark. And when my sister comes for me, like we both know she will, I will deny her and stay by your side until the end of time."

Isha opened her eyes again, smiling like the sun. Two more brilliant stars of warm yellow light ignited in her eyes.

"Now, choose."


	28. Still got it

Everything turned red before Marino's eyes. His chainsword carved a valley of blood and gore from the imperial guardsmen that stood in his path. Limbs and lives went flying in every direction as what was left of the squad turned tail and ran. Marino picked up an imperial soldier with his hands, his ancient power armour easily lifting the terrified soldier off the ground. With one single snap, he twisted the soldier's head clean off, like unscrewing a bottle cap, and poured the precious blood within over his naked face. The red gold of the Blood God poured over him, embracing him like a lover, lifting him closer to his master. With a roar, he reignited his sword and charged after the fleeing guardsmen.

It was hard to think that only weeks ago this planet had been a quiet rural farming world in a forgotten corner of the galaxy. But underneath the peaceful surface, cultists had worked in the shadows, snatching up the unwanted and the forgotten and spilling their blood in the name of Khorne, the blood god. After years of hard work, soaking the ground red, they had been able to open the portal to the warp and let the wolves into the pasture.

Now, at long last, instead of sheep, it was humans who were slaughtered by the millions.

The Imperium of man had responded quickly, sending a fleet of further sacrifices to stem the blood-red tide that threatened to swallow the planet whole. With virus bombs and nuclear weapons, they had turned the land into a barren wasteland. In their desperation, they failed to see that it mattered nothing to Marino and his kin who died, as long as the blood god got his due. The cities had burned, the few surviving citizens left twitching on the ground as the flesh-eating virus tore them apart from the inside. For every cultist, a thousand innocents laid dead. Marino could feel Khorne's satisfaction pulsing through his veins. The entire planet was now an altar to his great glory.

Explosions erupted all around Marino, lifting him off the ground and flinging him into the air. Igniting his jump pack mid-air, Marino managed to halt his rapid spin and get an overview of the battlefield. On the hill up ahead the Imperium had aligned lines upon lines of tanks and heavy artillery, which were now bathing the valley in a sea of fire. The squad Marino had been pursuing was gone, evaporated into thin air by the extreme heat.

The Imperium had never had any qualms shelling its own men. And why would they? Out here life was so cheap that it was all but worthless. Only Marino's chaos blessed power armour had saved him from the same fate. He smiled, it seemed it was not yet time for him to make his final sacrifice to the blood god. Sucking in the smell of burnt flesh Marinos ignited the afterburners on his jetpack and surged forward towards the tanks.

The landscape flashed past below him. What had once been rolling hills and verdant forests was now nothing but a hellscape of craters, burning wreckages and blood. This was the blood gods garden, his heaven. And soon, so soon this would be the fate of the whole galaxy. Everything would be his. All the worlds would burn and all life would bleed. The thought was almost sexual to Marino. Strange, he thought, for he had not had such thoughts since he had entered the blood gods service. Perhaps he would have to find some straggler to fuck to death before this was over to relieve the pressure building between his legs.

As Marino and his fellow marines charged forward the imperial line opened fire. Hundreds of heavy bolters filled the sky with a cloud of metal and soon his comrades were falling from the skies like raindrops. Dodging left and right, it was all Marino could do to stay alive. For a moment, it looked like their charge was halted by the sheer firepower of the myriad of guns aligned against them. But then a dark shadow fell upon them all. Up in the sky, the very sun turned red. From the depths of the deepest pits came a furious roar such as this world had never heard. It was all over. Enough blood had soaked the ground, now the blood god's herald himself had come to take part in the final act of the feast.

In fire and ash, the very earth broke and from its depths climbed man's worst nightmare. The hill up ahead split apart, giving birth to the most terrible of daemons, a Bloodthirster.

Clawing its way up from the rock, the giant daemon unfolded its monstrous bat-like wings and swung its houndlike horned head around, sniffing the air, taking in carnage all around him. Towering over even the largest machinery, it picked up the nearest tank as if it was a toy and tore it in half. Pure terror erupted along the imperial line. The bravest of the offices tried their best to hold the men in check, even shooting fleeing deserters in the back. But it was all for nought, there was no stopping the daemon now. Brandishing a whip of blood and fire in one hand and a double-bladed axe in the other it unleashed its rage on the feeble imperial cowards, feeding on flesh and metal alike.

Marino swopped down on one of the remaining Imperial commanders, whose tank was, against all odds, holding its ground. Sitting in the open hatch of his Leman Russ battle tank his rallying cry echoed over the dying screams of his comrades, urging them to send shell after shell racing towards the towering nightmare up ahead. The Bloodthirster roared in agony as a shell hit it head on, sending the massive daemon tumbling to its knees. The tank crew cheered. For the last time.

With a single swipe of his chainsword, Marino took the tank commanders head clean off, sending a fountain of blood high into the red sky. With his other hand, he dropped a frag grenade into the open tank hatch as he swooped past. He could just make out the panicked screams from within before a million tiny pieces of spinning metal turned the remaining crew into mincemeat. Landing past the tank, Marino charged the nearest squad of guardsmen, his chainsword hungry for more soft, unprotected flesh.

Expecting the cowards to flee, Marino was pleasantly surprised when the stood their ground before his charge. It only meant they would meet their end sooner. As he charged forward, little did he know that no further blood would be spilt on this day, that despite his courage the blood god had been denied his due. Only when he was close enough to see the white of their eyes did he realize that something wasn't right.

The guardsmen were not even pointing the guns at him. In fact, their weapons were on the ground, scattered all around them. Every single one of them was staring slack-jawed at the sky with a look on their face that Marino had never seen before. It was not terror, Marino knew exactly what that looked like. It was something beyond awe, stronger than worship, something so primal that it had no word. In the corner of his eye, Marino caught the glimpse of something radiant descending from the sky, which had somehow turned blue again. Only years on training kept his eyes on the target.

Time seemed to slow as Marino raced towards the guardsmen. He had lifted his weapon high, ready to swing, ready to deal death. But before he could do so something else caught his eye. From beneath the grip of his chainsword, a tiny white speck slowly emerged. Marino squinted his eyes, not trusting them with what he saw. There, out of his corrupted weapon of death, a single white flower bloomed, smiling innocently up towards him. It was such as small thing, so fragile. Even a child could have crushed it with a single finger. Without realizing it, Marino stopped. With a trembling hand reached out for the little flower with his bloodied metal fist. The little thing seemed to sing at his touch, blooming even brighter as his gloved hand brushed up against its petals. In awe, he watched as the blood drained off his hands as he touched the little white flower.

Beneath his feet, soft grass tickled his toes. High above he could hear the birds crying out in the blue sky. The smell of the forest filled his nostrils as the summer breeze rolled over him. Frowning, Marino looked at the old wooden branch he was holding in his hand. Wasn't that weird? Why was he holding onto that so tightly? Gently he put it down and lifted his gaze.

An explosion of colours hit his eyes. The hilltop on which he stood overlooked lush blooming meadows in every direction, filled to the brim with flowers in every colour imaginable. Beyond that was deep green forests, filled with massive trees that looked to be hundreds of years old. Had it always looked like this, Marino couldn't help but wonder.

From up ahead came a low whine, like the cry from a scared animal. Underneath a massive tree, which vaguely resembled a winged statue of something very large, crouched a naked woman. She reached her hands down towards the base of the tree, palms flat, her posture confident yet relaxed. Like he was drawn towards the scene, Marino's feet carried him forward without conscious thought.

"It's ok, little one, I'm not going to hurt you," the woman cooed softly. Very slowly, a small paw and a soft nose peeked forward from its hiding place beneath the tree's roots. Soon, a little puppy licked the woman's hand affectionately and allowed itself to be picked up into her bosom. She stood up, kissed the puppy and then gently set it down again. Wagging its tail, it happily bounded off, chasing a butterfly. Then she turned her twinkling eyes towards Marino and smiled. He found he almost couldn't meet her gaze. It was like two small suns were hidden inside her.

Marino stared at her in awe. Only then did he realize he was as naked as she was.

"I'll take that down there as a compliment, shall I?" she smiled sweetly at him, lifting an eyebrow and glancing downwards. Marino blushed furiously. The woman giggled, swirled around and the laughed uncontrollably in a high clear voice that seemed to echo out into eternity. She stretched towards the sky, standing on her tippy toes.

"You children sure can make a mess of things," she chuckled, holding out her hand so that a bird could land on her outstretched finger. She took a small hop towards Marino.

"Promise me you will play nice with the other children from now on?"

Marino found he couldn't answer, he was so transfixed by the woman. He found he could not describe her. Simply words like beauty couldn't do her justice.

"Uhm, sweetie, I know those are nice but my eyes are up here." She placed a slender hand under his chin and gently raised his eyes until they met hers.

"Promise?" She teased. Marino nodded numbly, knowing nothing of the primal force of nature he had just made a pact with. For all his power, his previous master was but a toddler still sucking on his thumb in comparison to the ancient creature before him. She had been charming the pants off whole galaxies since long before Marino's species even existed.

Reaching in she kissed him deeply, with the hunger of someone who had not felt the touch of another upon her skin for ten thousand years. The kiss was so intense it was beyond words, almost unbearable. When their lips finally parted Marino felt as if his mind had been just a second away from totally unravelling like a bunch of leaves in the wind. The woman licked her lip, eagerly tasting the kiss. The look she gave him was so hot it almost scorched his soul.

"Oh, the things I would do to you all if I only had the time. I would leave every man and woman on this planet with a grin on their face that would last a thousand years."

But then her light faded a little, her smile faltering slightly as a sadness crept onto her face. Sorrow somehow looked foreign on her, Marino thought as his mind started to collect itself together again. Like it wasn't supposed to be there.

"But there is no time. I still have so far to go. And time is running out."

With a single playful wave of her hand, the goddess and protector of everything that lives and breathe strode off towards the stars. Behind her stood millions of former soldiers, naked as the day they were born, their weapons nowhere to be seen, gaping at her as she slowly disappeared into the midday sun. The ground they stood on, which just hours ago was poisoned beyond all redemption, was now a paradise.

She knew it would not last, knew she should not have exposed herself in such a way. But she couldn't help it. It was what she did. Who she was. She had but one purpose in this world and that was to be the guardian of all life. And to that end, she had done well today. But more than all that, she needed to know she wasn't just a decrepit old has-been who was no longer good for anything. Smiling, she allowed herself an extra little sway of her hips and an extra bounce in her step as she shot one last glance over her shoulder. A whole world gaped back in awe.

"Not too shabby for a multi-million year old broad," she chuckled, stretching her shoulders. Nodding to herself, she took a deep breath, a determined expression on her exquisite face.

"You still got it Isha. You can do this."


	29. I love you

_Back before Ynnead ever met Imisha, after her meeting with the Anathema._

Ynnead stopped and sighed. She rubbed her forehead in annoyance and let out an exasperated sigh. Before the death goddess rose the massive ornate webway gate leading to the Black Library. Build in a time long lost, before she had taken her first breath, it was awe inspiring. Beyond that gate, awaited the guardians. And the toll. Only a few more steps. Yet Ynnead stood still, seemingly unwilling to cross this last barrier. She closed her eyes and spoke.

"I know you're there."

Only silence came in response.

"You have been following me for days. I can feel your presence pulsing through me. The same blood that courses through you is slowly quickening inside me. Can you feel it too? Can you feel me?"

Everything was still silent around her. But it was as if the silence itself was holding its breath. It was too silent. Ynnead smirked triumphantly.

"I knew it. I can feel all of you. From the second I opened my eyes and filled my dead lungs with cold air, I could feel all of you. My dancing brother, my scattered brother, my sister in chains. And you. My sister in pain."

The silence around her Ynnead kind of twitched.

"I'm glad I'll finally be able to meet you. I feel like we are attached at the hip yet none of us has ever had the guts to talk to the other. It's such a weird feeling to be so close to someone you've never seen. To love someone you've never met, don't you think?"

The very air in the room laughed back at Ynnead in utter silence.

"What, you think that's weird? That I love you? It's perfectly natural if you ask me. You're my sister after all. Oh, I know who you are, what you are. But even though all that, you're the one I feel the closest to. The other ones, our older siblings, they'll never be able to let go of the past. They can only look over their shoulder and see what has been lost. You and me, we are the only ones who have the ability to raise our eyes and gaze forward. We're the ones who will decide the future. Surely you can agree to that?"

Sullenly, the silence agreed. Ynnead laughed out loud in response.

"We're so alike it's ridiculous. Were both the odd one out. Both afterthoughts. Accidents. Both lonely, both scared. Both unwanted. So much of what rages inside you also exists inside me. Sometimes we are so alike it scares me, and I wonder if we are but the same thing. Am I only the other side of the coin?"

This time she didn't wait for the silence to answer her. She got to her feet and dusted off her simple woollen robe.

"I really do want to meet you. But once I cross this gate, you won't be able to follow, will you? For you have nothing with which to pay the toll, am I right?"

The silence roared back in anger, stamping the ground in soundless rage.

"I didn't mean to upset you. I'm just saying, this is your last chance. There is no telling when I will be back. Or even if they'll let me leave. So can't you please come out so that I can meet you face to face? I want to look at you with my own eyes. Please?"

The silence twisted and swirled and from somewhere beyond eternity, a woman beyond horror and beauty strode into the room, hips swaying from side to side. She placed herself between Ynnead and the webway gate, towering menacingly over the little death goddess, who gawked up at her sister in awe.

 _She will kill you now._

"Wow."

 _She will consume. No different from the others. Weak. Worthless._

"Yes yes. That's good and all. But seriously, did the universe have to use up all the curves when they made you guys? Is it really too much to ask that fate could have saved a little for me?"

Fearlessly, standing on her tippy toes, Ynnead stretched up and shamelessly cupped her elder sister's breast in her hand. For the first time since she was born, Slaanesh, the goddess of all things vile and depraved, blushed like a schoolgirl. She took a step backwards, involuntary shielding herself with her clawed hands, pushing the little girls the had groped her away. Ynnead's eyes were wide, almost obsessed.

"I swear, I'm never washing this hand again. Please, please, please, tell me all the girls in the family get those. That means there is at least a chance for me." The death goddess hesitated for a second, her face flooded with doubt. "Or did you, like, 'improve the situation' later on?"

Slaanesh roared in rage and with a quick swipe of her claws picked up the little goddess, effortlessly lifting her into the air. Ynnead didn't even flinch but bowed her head in shame.

"I should apologize for that. 'Ask befer ya touch, yer little pervert', my father kept telling me over and over again. It's just something about boobs that makes me completely lose my mind, you know? And as you can see, I'm not really blessed in that department. How unfair is that? To have a thing for boobs yet don't have any yourself? Huh, is this how all men must feel?"

Like the gates of hell, Slaanesh slavering jaws opened impossibly wide, revealing the swirling vortex of pain and misery inside. Slowly, she raised her closed claw carrying the death goddess towards her open mouth.

"Ha! Just like that, I think I figured out the opposite sex! Yay me!" Ynnead mused on as the jaws of doom closed around her. In one gulp, the last Hope of the Eldar was gone. Only the Doom of the Eldar was left standing.

Slaanesh eyes went wide with excitement as she started to taste and digest her little sister. In had been so long since she had tasted one of her own kind. There was nothing quite like it, to murder and eat your own family. The pleasure was rising within Slaanesh as the little newcomer started to die inside her. She tasted like...like...

Death.

The chaos god fell to her knees. Before her eyes, the skin on her hands started to wither and crack. Her veins were turning black, swirling with cloudy black blood. All that which had previously been silky smooth and full of vigour was now crumbling like old paper. In a matter of moments, her breathtaking beauty turned to ash and her endless strength flowed away from her like air from a burst balloon. Shivering on the ground, with only seconds left to live, she retched with all her remaining might, forcing her claws into her throat to expunge the deadly creature that had entered her. In the end, Slaanesh was left whimpering on the ground, clutching her stomach in mind numbing pain. Beside her, free once again, Ynnead stumbled to her feet. Her eyes were black as night and her smile and witty voice long gone. She too looked tired and shaken.

"That, dear sister, is what going to happen if I pass beyond the veil before my time. For all your power and corruption, you're still family, you're still one of us. Your fate and mine are whirling across the dancefloor together. When I die, you will go with me. I needed you to know that. And I knew you would never listen to my words, so I had to show you."

Ynnead looked at her sister anxiously. Ever so slowly the chaos gods power was returning. But at this moment she was weak. Vulnerable. The very core of her being was exposed. Carefully Ynnead bent down and kissed her sister's forehead. But where her lips touched the chaos god's the skin once again wilted and black snakes started to crawl underneath the skin. Instantly, the death goddess withdrew, looking miserable.

 _Do it._

"No. I told you, we have to all go together. All of us. If we don't, all life will suffer."

 _She doesn't care. She wants life to suffer. Suffer like she has._

"No, you don't. You keep telling yourself that, but it's not really true."

 _She hates you._

"I know."

Ynnead rose once again and walked up to the gateway in front of her. With one last deep breath, she raised her hood and started to ascend the steps leading into the gate to the Black Library. But right before she stepped through the gate she turned around. Tears of smoke were falling from her swirling black eyes onto the ground.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't think of another way. I didn't want to hurt you. Please believe me. I really do love you."


	30. An invitation to the end

At Ynnead's birthplace, the poisoned world of Eambar life continued as it always had. The fact that an Eldar god had been born and lived on their planet made no difference to them. The fact that she was now murdering her way across the galaxy towards her sister the chaos god Slaanesh meant nothing. Here life, such as it was, continue as always. For the ware they sold was flesh and flesh was always in demand.

Here there was no talk of hope, no dream of redemption. A young girl, just old enough to be sold, was dragged through the filthy streets. Her story was a common one, of lies told, of promises broken, of dreams shattered. This particular one had stolen a bit of medicine to save the life of her unborn child. Now, she had been caught and had to be made an example of. The men that sold her stripped of her breathing mask and while laughing at her pleads, shoved her out of an airlock into the planets toxic atmosphere.

The girl started to die, toxins seeping into her body as the others laughed at the faces she made when life left her, safe behind a glass door. Life was cheap and death was nothing but entertainment.

Nothing had changed.

Until this day, when the toxic clouds that enshroud the planet would part and reveal a new star in the sky. Today everything would change. Had the poor girl been thrown out the airlock just ten minutes later she would have witnessed a miracle that would have saved her life. Ten minutes. As if was, she died horribly as the acidic atmosphere of Eambar consumed her body.

* * *

There was a knock at the door. Inquisitor Amaron frowned and pushed down his frustration at the constant interruptions. The man at the door was just doing his job. A deep breath.

"Come in."

The door opened and a servitor stepped into the room. The man was so much machine that Amaron had to wonder how much human there was left in him. What remaining flesh the man had looked like it was in a state of full decay, hardly even alive any more.

"The fleet is ready, my lord." The servitor spoke in a raspy voice.

"Fully armed?"

"1780 multistage cyclonic torpedoes, enough to turn a dozen worlds of your choice to glass marbles." There was an undertone of excitement in the servitor's voice. Amaron had seen it before many times, this fascination with technological terrors, a morbid love for deploying the worst humanity could muster. For Amaron this whole mess was nothing but a failure on all levels. Diplomatic, tactical, not to mention the staggering loss of life and material. He did what he did because he had to, not because he liked it. As far as he was concerned deploying the exterminatus was always the last resort, and in the end, a sign that he had not been doing his job as well as he could have.

"Very well, be..."

At this moment every alarm in the base started blearing. Not hesitating for a second, Amaron grabbed his trusty bolter and rushed pash the servitor and out of his private office. The corridor outside was bustling with people running all over the place, but they all parted for Amaron as he strode towards the command centre. Barking order left and right Amaron tried to find what was going on, but no one would give him a straight answer. Finally, he spotted a familiar face framed in slate grey armour in the crowd. Did the grey knight captain ever leave his terminator armour? Likely not, Amaron mused. When needed the man was always ready, and that was all that mattered.

"What's going on?"

"I think it is best you see for yourself."

The grey knight led Amaron to one of the observation decks on the side of the fortress. Lines and lines of people stood outside, looking stupefied up at the sky, shielding their eyes with their hands. High up in the sky there was a new star, shining brighter than anything Amaron had ever seen even in the middle of the day. It pulsed with power, flooding the platform with light. One particularly strong wave caused the whole crowd to gasp and avert their eyes. Recovering from the blast, the inquisitor did a couple of quick computations and swore under his breath.

"Damn. Isn't that..."

"Yes, that's the direction of the Eye of Terror." The terminator captain replied grimly. Amaron's eyes scanned the men assembled at the platform and his eyes came to rest on the servitor that had been in his office. He squinted as if he could not believe his eyes, then he closed his fist and gritted his teeth.

"Everyone get back inside! Prepare for fleet deployment!" He barked. His voice seemed to snap the crowd out of their trance and back into actions. People jumped to actions and marched back inside in an orderly fashion. Amaron studied the servitor intently as he passed by. The flesh on one side of the man's face, the side that had faced the star when it pulsed the strongest was no longer grey and decayed. Instead, it was smooth and pink, like that of a newborn child.

The inquisitor looked up at the star one last time before the door shut behind him. This was the endgame, he could feel it in his bones. And for the sake of humanity, it was a game he could not afford to lose.

* * *

"One more Imisha, you can do it!"

Davar's hands were slick with blood. Too much blood. He tried to push the thought aside but part of him knew it was too late. He had known since the Stablemaster's Pet had picked up Imisha of that barren world. The light had simply gone out of her eyes.

All around him people were tripping over each other in a scramble to keep his wife and their still unborn children alive. The machinery next to him were all bleeping angrily, alarms blaring together in a cacophonic concert. A hundred wires were connected to Imisha. The Eldar were the most technologically advanced species in the galaxy and yet saving even a single life was beyond their grasp.

Four critical signals, four lives fading away. Blood pressure too low. Warp barriers wavering. Heart rates fading. Imisha convulsed and screamed in agony as another contraction raced through her like a lightning bolt. Her curves and those of her children dropped another inch.

"Don't you dare give up now. You hear me! Don't you dare leave me alone! You fight, you hear me? Never stop fighting! Never!"

A final contraction raced through Imisha and her body collapsed, like a rag that had been pressed and twisted and until all liquid had left it. Davar wanted to scream. No man, beast or demon had ever bested him. Every challenge he had ever faced had been met and conquered. And even so, here at the end, he was poised to lose it all. Trembling he crouched be Imisha's side, desperately clutching her clammy and ashen face.

"What's the use?" She whispered. "Perhaps it is better if they die here, with me, rather than being forced to be born into this cursed world. This world devoid of hope."

All the monitors went blank. Imisha's fragile eldar body, unable to take any more abuse, finally lay still. Davar's world crumbled to pieces in front of him.

Then the light flooded the room. The crew desperately tried to shield their eyes as it shone through metal and plastic, through wraithbone and flesh alike. Davar tried to avert his face but it was in vain, the light was so strong that it forced him to the ground. There he laid, crawled up like a baby, gasping for air as the world seemed to disappear around him. The intensity was such that time seemed to stand still, nothing seemed to exists apart from it. It was all Davar could do to hang on to his own existence.

After what seemed like an eternity a sound pierced through the wall of white energy. A single very small sound. Then another one, and finally a third. He looked up. There was a shadow standing in the endless sea of light. A shadow bending down over him, smiling at him. And he knew that smile.

Bedazzled, he took the shadow's hand as it reached down to pick him off the floor. In sheer wonder, he accepted the small bundles it offered him into his arms. Jaws hanging open, tears streaming down his cheeks he could see the shadow as a silhouette against the light, one hand reaching forward towards the source out there somewhere among the stars.

"It's time. We have to go."

* * *

Meanwhile, across the galaxy, a captain of an Eldar guardian squad sprinted across the corridors of Imisha's old craftworld, his face sweaty and strained under his mask. Finally, he reached his destination, the inner core of the command section.

"Warlock! Warlock! There-"

"Calm down captain, I see it."

Standing tall on the craftworld command dome, the eyes of every Eldar in the hall on her, Ikaria tilted her head and gazed at the shining star off at a distance. She pondered the situation for almost a full second, an eternity for a mind of her calibre. Then she gave the order.

* * *

 _What's this? The disgusting little mouse is back?_

 _How tedious. Hmmm. She thinks she's grown tired of toying with it._

 _Yes. Time for her to put an end to this pathetic farce._


	31. Time to die

Ynnead drew an invisible rattling breath and the planet started to die. From the lowliest bacteria to the refugees huddled together in tunnels deep beneath the ground, nothing could escape the pull of the death goddess as she gorged herself. Children stopped crying in their mother's arms, trees withered and died, birds fell from the sky. Soon all that would be left of the once verdant world would be ice-cold shadow and smoke.

A single cultist was all it took. One worshipper of the great enemy. One slip up, one game that went too far, one thought to lead you astray and she would come. Human, Ork or Eldar. Man, woman or child. it didn't matter. Life was cheap, vulgar and, ultimately, worthless. Only death mattered. Death and vengeance, vengeance for mummy. Ynnead would murder and murder and murder until the great enemy would finally show herself and then, finally, it would all end. She had hunted her sister closer and closer to the eye of terror, carving a smoky wound of death across the galaxy. Part of Ynnead knew she was walking into a trap, knew she was being drawn into a confrontation she could never hope to win. It didn't matter. She didn't want to win. She just wanted to die. An end to it all. An end to all things.

Behind her, on a leash of smoke and shadow, skulking like a beaten dog, came the Laughing God. He was no longer laughing. All too late did he realize what he had unleashed. Countless were the times he had tried to escape from her and countless were the times Ynnead had hurt him in return, each time worse than the previous one. After the last time, she doubted he would try again. Soon it wouldn't' matter anyway. She only needed her bloodhound to lead her through the webway for a little while longer. Then he too would become fuel for the galaxy's funeral pyre.

The death goddess drew another breath and more sparks of life flickered and died. Tiny sparks in the minds of the beings all around her went dark.

Ynnead killed and killed and fed upon the hopes and dreams of those she killed, trading their futures, all they were and would ever be for even more power. Power to kill even more things. But power is a fragile and fleeting thing, an unfaithful mistress at best. The goddess once knew this. But like many things she had forgotten it. Now she was to be reminded.

With her next breath, no more life died. Not so much as a mouse fell. Instead, the remaining sparks burned brighter than ever, fiercely resisting her pull. Above her, the clouds parted and the sun peeked through. On wings of light, an angel descended from the heavens. Ynnead glared upwards with cold, uncaring eyes and the angel slowly landed opposite her. Without even thinking, the death goddess attacked. The urge to kill was all she had left. Smoky funnels of hate rushed forward, ready to rip the wings of the angel and suck her dry.

Isha calmly caught the tentacles of smoke in her hand and held them fast. Her grip wasn't really that hard but the tendrils seemed stuck in her hand like it was a vice. They writhed and twisted but could not get loose. Isha beat her starlit wings and the smoke evaporated, blown away by a warm spring breeze from nowhere.

The shadowy leash the Laughing god had been chained by dissolved. He stared at Ynnead, his mask a face of sheer panic, fearing retribution for a crime he hadn't committed.

"Leave us, brother, I think you have done enough damage. We'll speak of this later. At length."

The eyes on the laughing god's mask flickered nervously between his two sisters. His body was taut, like a drawn bowstring.

"Go on. Don't worry, she can't hurt you anymore. But don't stay and peak like you always do. This is only between us girls."

There was a split second of silence, then a brilliant explosion of light like a mirror shattering and the two sisters were alone. The wind howled as light and shadow stared at each other.

 _Why are you here?_

"You broke your promise to me, my queen. You promised you would come for me."

 _I will come for you. I will come for all living things._

"You are no longer you. Thus your promise is broken."

The wind hissed and the sky started to boil with dark angry clouds.

 _What do you want?_

"I want you to uphold your promise to me. And I have come to make sure you do."

You sad pathetic dried up old has been. I don't know how you escaped from that filthy hole but I suggest you crawl back from whence you came and cower there behind your jailor until I'll come for the both of you. You really think you're a match for me?

Ynnead rose off the ground, her oily wings racing up into the heavens like hungry snakes. Her dark eyes glinted with dark hunger. The clouds themselves cried oily black tears as Ynnead pulled down the sky on her sister. She held nothing back, unleashing a hurricane of smoke and fury to bombard the ground where Isha stood. Clawing and scratching, ripping and tearing, the death goddess hurt her sister in every way she could think of.

Isha took every blow, accepted every hurt. She didn't so much as flinch under her sister's onslaught. She let the smoke dig into her body and soul, without a raising a finger in her own defence.

"You forget that there is a piece of me inside you. A piece you are pushing down, trying to act like it doesn't exist. But that part is still there, and as long as it is, your tantrum will be for nought. For it is that part that allowed you to love your mother as you did. The best part of you, if I may say so."

 _DON'T YOU DARE SPEAK OF HER. YOU LEFT ME ALL ALONE. ABANDONED US. ABANDONED US ALL!_

The sky boiled with rage as Ynnead renewed her attacks. Isha slowly strode forward through the torment. Just as corruption has to give way to death, death must yield to life.

"I don't deny my guilt. What about you, sister? Now that you have tasted sin can you accept the wrongs you have committed? What do you think your mother would say if she saw you now? You think she would be proud?"

 _SHUT UP! SHUT UP! DIE! DIE, YOU WHORE! DIE! DIE! DIE! WHY WON'T YOU DIE?_

A storm so furious it engulfed the entire planet struck at Isha. She kept striding forwards.

"You can't continue like this. I can't let you continue like this."

Wading through her sister's attacks Isha tenderly placed her hand on Ynnead's cheek. Ynnead's cold lifeless eyes flickered at the touch.

"Come, come all of you that we have wronged. I release you from your prison. Take my blessing on your journey onward. I pray that your destination will be one of light and harmony."

Ynnead's gigantic oily wings collapsed like a house of cards and she fell to the ground. All that which she had stolen, the souls of countless lives that were not of her kin, were in an instant gone.

"And to all of you that remain, to you my children that passed before your time. I beg of you to forgive us. Know that your sacrifice will have saved us all."

Two black eyes full of hatred stared up at Isha from the ground.

 _Just like the rest of them. Do it then. End it. Come, sister, take a bite of me, see if you can stomach the taste of death._

"You used to be so clever. Your grief and hate have blinded you, my queen. Do you really think I came here to try to fight you? To prey on your beautiful soul and drain you dry, as she would? You think that was my brilliant plan?" Isha smiled, bent down to kiss her sister goodbye and then straightened herself, raising her hands towards the sky.

"No. I am Isha. I am life incarnate. I don't hurt, I love. I don't take."

The life goddess smiled, for she knew she had won. Tenderly she gripped one of Ynnead's smoky tentacles in the palm of her hand.

"I give."

And with those words, she stabbed herself in the chest with the smoky tendril and exploded into a light so brilliant that it could be seen across the galaxy. Like a star she shone. But this time, her light was only for her younger sister.

"I failed you once long ago when I didn't give enough. I left you incomplete. Back then, I was arrogant. Weak and afraid. I'm so sorry for all you have suffered because of my cowardice. But time has humbled me. Strengthened my resolve. I'm no longer afraid."

Initially, Ynnead tried to fend off the light streaming at her from all directions. She tried to pull back her deadly weapon but Isha held on, pressing the smoke into her heart. The death goddess lashed out with shadow and smoke against the onslaught of life but as more and more light rushed past her defences her will to fight seemed to waver. Her movements became slow and dull, her stale and dead limbs started to tremble. For the first time in a long time, the face behind the horror slipped a little, showing the scared and hurt little girl under the surface. The mask she had been hiding behind slowly started to crack. Blood and excrement were tenderly wiped away from her face. And at long last, with the mask broken, the bottled up tears over her mother's death were allowed to flow freely.

"It's a wonder you have been able to keep the shadow down with so little light for so long. There must always be a balance. Like all things, you were meant to be in balance. Yes, a balance in all things. Life and death. Light and shadow."

Ynnead's little body started to shake. The darkness in her eyes faded as she closed her eyes and crawled up, hugging her knees. She rose off the ground, held up by a swirling dance of shadow and light all around her. And slowly it started to happen. The little goddesses' body, long dormant, started to stir. Her limbs lengthened, her childlike plumpness melted away, her wild and bushy hair straightened out just a little. The features in her face sharpened, her ears elongated. At her hips and her chest, a hint of curves that had never been there before. That which was once clumsy and awkward became elegant and graceful. That which had been cold and dead now flooded with hot red blood. Life quickened throughout her body as barren flesh became fertile. She was an incomplete puzzle of a blooming flower, and now pieces of light rushed in to fill the gaps where shadow alone had not been enough.

"Yes! Take it! Take all of it! Take it and become whole! Take it and become who you were always meant to be!"

Isha gasped for breath. Her visage seemed to flicker and dim like she was fading from this world.

"Remember, my queen, that all life is sacred! But sooner or later, when the time comes, it is the nature of life to...to...to end!"

Like a supernova, light exploded from Isha in one last outpour. Above her, the dance of light and shadow swirled faster and faster until it reached a climax and rushed into her little sister. The sky cleared. For a split second, everything stood still in complete silence as Ynnead hung in the air.

Then, with a gasp, colour rushed onto Ynnead's pale cheeks as the last queen of the Eldar opened her eyes wide. One was cloudy and jet black as the night. The other was blazing like the sun in the summer sky.


	32. One moment of happiness

"Ouch!"

It was a really, really weird feeling to have someone sucking on your breasts, Imisha mused to herself. For over two hundred years these two bags of fat had followed her through life, just kind of hanging there, tagging along for the ride without really contributing anything. Sure, even if she was no beauty she had used the occasional low cut dress to score political points and Davar had fun with them in the bedroom but in essence, they had been useless.

"OUCH!"

Imisha shifted her body so that her eldest son could get a better grip. He was the greediest one, who could seemingly never get enough. His younger brother was already starting to doze off on the other side and his sister was sound asleep in her father's arms. For two hundred years her breasts had hung in there, biding their time. And now it was here, now they finally got to fill their role in life, feeding her children. Her three beautiful children.

Imisha was a mother.

She still couldn't believe it. In retrospect it had been one thing having them inside her, even sensing their souls in the warp. But it was something entirely different seeing them in the real world. Touching their skin, smelling their hair, listening to their soft breaths as they slept. She could already tell the two boys would be as different as night and day. The eldest, the greedy little bastard, was a splitting image of his father, body and soul, down to the crooked nose. Imisha could already tell that he would be a rowdy one, at three days old he was already testing his strength against every object that came in his path. No craftworld would ever be enough for him, he needed the open skies, the rolling plains and the high mountains. An exodite through and through. My little feral Eldar, she had already named him in her mind. One who would hunt, conquer and lead. A bright fiery spark in the warp.

His younger brother was the polar opposite. Quiet, careful and timid. While he wasn't that much smaller than his sibling, he somehow lacked the satisfying bulk of his elder brother. Initially, Imisha had feared for his health. Why didn't he cry? Why didn't he suckle as fiercely as his elder brother? Why was his spirit so much dimmer in the warp? Was there something wrong with him? Over the years she had seen hundreds of mother freak out in the same way, ignoring reassurance and logic, and she had scoffed at each and every one of them. Now she understood them. But slowly she started to understand her youngest son. He didn't cry because he was content. He ate his fill, neither more nor less. His spirit wasn't dim but condensed, focused. Imisha smiled. Her grandfather had been such a man. A man who seldom spoke but whose every word was carefully considered, whose every move was made with meticulous economy, efficient in everything he did, never wasting anything. She had so admired him as a little girl. To think that her son would carry on that legacy made her heart swell.

And then there was the girl. Her scaled, feathered daughter, her little lizard. The girl even had a little tail. Scaled children among Eldar were fairly uncommon but not unheard of. Same with feathered ones. Almost all children lost these extra characteristics in the first few years of their life, a byproduct of a time long gone. But only once had Imisha heard of a child born with both feathers and scales and even then it hadn't been this prominent. That child had died shortly after birth. Imisha glanced over towards Davar, who had the little girl snuggled up in his giant arms. Her daughter was much smaller than both of the boys, small even for an Eldar child. Blue scales, grey feathers, pale purple eyes topped off with a mop of curly strawberry blond hair. A whirlwind of colours. There was a rough unfinished look to her, like a painting a child had gotten bored with and never quite bothered to finish.

Yet for all her frayed nerves Imisha didn't worry about her little girl in the slightest. For of all her children, her daughter was the toughest of them all. In one way it felt wrong to compare them to each other when they were barely out of the womb. Yet there was no denying it, it was something she and Davar would have to adapt to. Their daughter was different.

She had been the one whose soul had stood defiantly in the face of a Keeper of Secrets and shielded her mother, even if only for a moment. It had been her that had forced Imisha to drive the lance into the daemon's back when she had been ready to give up. Likely her brothers already owned their life to their sister, Imisha could swear it. It was almost as if the little girl had decided that they would all be born, and that was all there was to it. Reality itself had hung its head in defeat and obediently obliged the girl. There she slept, only a newborn baby, frail and soft, yet already fierce enough to spit fate in the face and get away with it.

Even Imisha, a trained scholar of souls, had a problem describing the girl's little lifeforce. It was neither particularly wild nor focused like her brothers', and while it burned vividly, there was nothing extraordinary about that. She was the daughter of a farseer, a bright soul was all but expected. No, it was something different altogether. The best way Imisha could describe it was like standing in front of a fire that looked faint to the eye but radiated a fierce heat that hinted of a hidden power that couldn't be seen. A stray sound at the edge of your hearing, tattling of a high pitched symphony outside of your understanding.

Deviant in both body and soul, there was something almost alien about the little girl. As if she wasn't quite Eldar. Exactly what that would make her Imisha didn't know, nor did she care in the slightest. The girl was her flesh and blood, strong and healthy, and that was all that really mattered.

Imisha yawned and noted the time. Another four hours left. Four hours of peace and quiet with her family before everything would come to a close. She really should try to get some sleep. The Stablemaster's Pet was racing as fast as it could through the webway towards the origin of the explosion that had likely saved her and her children's life. What fate awaited them there she didn't know. An army of daemons? An insane goddess? The end of the world? Imisha snuggled in deeper into the bed, careful about not waking her sons. What did it matter? This was the way forward, that's all she knew and all she needed to know.

Smiling to herself, Imisha wiggled her toes just because she could. After she had come to after the birth she found she could move her legs again. Even the scar on her stomach where the jagged knife had gone in was gone. She shouldn't be alive and nor should her children. Yet here they were. It was as if they had been given a second chance at life. No matter what would happen she had gotten to have this moment with her family. One moment of serenity and happiness.

Just as Imisha closed her eyes her daughter let out a loud whimper. The girl was the only one of the children who slept better in her father's arms yet soon she was grunting and squirming, lips searching for something that Davar just couldn't provide. Imisha sighed, she knew that if she moved the boys from the breast they would both start shrieking like banshees. Yet there was no helping it. As gently as she could she handed the boys off to Davar who, like a zombie, rose out of bed and started to walk circles around the room, one screeching son on each arm. Meanwhile, their little alien lizard of a girl settled in Imisha's arms and suckled until her violet eyes went unfocused and finally closed. Even if the scales and feathers faded with time the girl would, like her mother, never be a traditional beauty. But even so, she was and would always be the most beautiful thing in the world in her mother's eyes. Caught up in her emotions Imisha leaned down and kissed her daughter on her downy forehead.

That, as it turned out, was a grievous mistake.

Frowning and squirming at the soft touch, the scaly little bundle of joy quickly joined her brothers in a competition to see who could shriek the loudest. As Imisha buttoned up her dress and rose out of bed, wailing daughter at her shoulder, she mentally accepted that there would be no sleep tonight. When the morning came she and Davar would have to fight for their future without sleep.

But that was ok because now she knew exactly what they were fighting for. Not for some abstract dream of revenge or return to former glory. Not for some god, not for hope, not for the Eldar race, not even for their own lives.

They were fighting for three ungrateful little brats who wouldn't even let their parents sleep the night before the end of the world.


End file.
